The Cactus Cat Lounge
by Morgana Deryn
Summary: Newt Scamander wanted some advice on what to feed a thunderbird. Credence Barebone wasn't sure what to make of the stylish woman hanging around the rallies. Elvira Blodgarmr is trying to keep the neighborhood safe. Iliana Velikova will admit she has a soft spot for broken things. A magizoologist and an Obscurial walk into a bar... Newt/OC Credence/OC
1. Chapter 1

"They walk among us!" Mary Lou Barebone's strident voice echoed down the street. Today the New Salem Philanthropic Society had posted up outside of the Schwarzman Building on 5th avenue. It was the sort of place where one was equally likely to find a bored socialite or a lifelong academic. There was a decent cross-section of the upper-crust of Manhattan society to be found there – just the sort of high-profile support that the group needed.

"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!" Mary Lou continued to rant to the small crowd she had gathered, some of her flock holding up banners depicting a wand being snapped between two hands in front of flames. "It is our duty as good Christian men and women to sort out these evildoers among our society and bring them to justice! Their wickedness cannot be allowed to pollute this great city, this shining beacon of innovation and progress!"

Credence stood off to the side on the stairs, a bundle of flyers in his aching hands. The day before he'd been late getting back to the church and Ma had taken his belt to his hands. His fingers were a mass of cuts and bruises and holding his hands in any position for a length of time set them aching. The worst was when the edge of a stray piece of paper happened to brush into one of the splits in his skin. It felt like a razor, quick and sharp, a hot flash of pain, and made him wince and hiss whenever it happened.

Chastity stood on the street, shoving leaflets into the hands of unwary passersby before they could refuse her. She had been the one to find this place, bragging to Mary Lou what a good spot it would be to preach from, flanked by the huge Beaux-Arts library.

Credence knew better. Years of avoiding eye contact and shrinking from any kind of abuse, verbal or physical, had made him keenly aware of when he was being mocked. He saw the barely-contained derisiveness in the eyes of the men who stopped with sweethearts, saw the judgmental looks the ladies gave Chastity's matronly wool dress and his own wide-brimmed hat, saw the academics rolling their eyes at Mary Lou's rhetoric. To people like this they were the dregs of society, an entertaining diversion, not something to be taken seriously.

Not that Credence would ever dare to reveal his thoughts to his Ma.

"Pardon me, may I have one of those?"

Credence flinched badly as fingers gently brushed his shoulder. He whirled around, cringing down a step and away from whoever was addressing him. Wordlessly, he offered a pamphlet. A delicate hand reached out and plucked it from his fingers, but instead of simply moving on, the woman said,

"Oh, your poor hands!"

Pamphlet stuffed carelessly into her pocket, the women reached out, tenderly supporting his wrist and fingers on her own palms. She made a sympathetic cooing noise. It was the gentleness, the genuine concern that she seemed to have, that made Credence glance up.

Instantly, he averted his eyes, cheeks going brilliantly red. Her coat had a fur collar the expensive kind, and she wore a shorter dress, her lips painted red and her eyelids grey. She looked like a silent film star, the sort of woman who was too pretty to be real. With silver-blonde hair and blue eyes, she reminded him of the illustrations of kind angels he sometimes saw in Ma's books, all gentle eyes and delicate hands, exactly what was focused on him at the moment.

"Try crushing half an onion."

"W-Wh-What?" Credence stammered, glancing up once more. She was looking at him. He accidentally met her gaze and quickly averted his eyes, turning his face away from hers.

" _You do not look your betters in the eye, you arrogant boy! Pride is a deadly sin!"_ Ma's words echoed in his ears.

"Crush half an onion," she repeated. "Apply it a few times a day. It will sting – _badly_ – but it will help your hands heal quickly."

"I… ah… it's n-nothing."

Truly, to him, it wasn't. Or, rather, it was now, but in the grand scheme of things these scars would fade to the silvery false scars or pink puckers like all the others had. At least they weren't as deep as the marks she left on his shoulders, his back, and his rear when he did something particularly bad. Credence missed the days when swats to his rear or pops on the cheek were the worst of his fears.

"No, I imagine it's quite painful," she disagreed. "Whatever did you do to yourself?"

"I-I…" He had done it to himself. He'd known as he walked home that he would have to run to make it back before curfew, but the fear had been particularly bad that night and he hadn't been able to make himself rush his return to the church where Mary Lou held sway. He'd known what was in for him, and he'd done it anyway, defied Ma. He had sinned. "I disobeyed?"

" _Diso-"_ The strangled, indignant way she repeated his words made him glance her way again, pointedly fixing his stare on her cheek and not her eyes. Her cheeks were red and she looked angry, full lips pinched tightly. She was disgusted by him, then, now that she understood what he'd done wrong. Surely an angel wouldn't support him willfully disobeying Mary Lou. The girl must be quite in favor of his suffering.

"I _see_ ," she hissed, and the glare she sent Ma's way was absolutely vicious. Mary Lou was ignoring him, facing forward and preaching to her constantly coming-and-going crowd. Chastity, however, had noticed, and was staring at him with the blank, squint-eyed expression Credence had learned to fear. The older of his sisters seemed to enjoy getting him in trouble.

"I-I have t-to…"

It pained him in more ways than one to pull his hand from hers, but Credence did it. He could only imagine the pain he'd be in if Chastity told Ma that she saw him holding hands with a girl.

"Of course," the girl said, her hands lowering. "But please do remember about the onion. Oh, and thank you for the pamphlet."

And she was gone, hair swaying against the fabric of her dress as she descended the stairs, her heels tapping lightly. He watched her go, feeling as if she'd taken his breath with him. She hadn't been angry at him, she'd tried to _help_ him, she _thanked_ him. She didn't just jostle him aside or ignore him like most people did, and she certainly didn't knock his papers to the ground or try to throw a punch at him.

She was… nice.

* * *

The Cactus Cat Lounge was a hole-in-the-wall sort of place, and it had been even before the new owner came in almost a decade before and did a bit of sprucing. Overnight it had gone from a place where if something crunched under your foot it could have been anything from a peanut shell to a rat skull to a place with gleaming brass and polished red-toned woods. The wobbly tables and chairs had been repaired and the grimy mirror behind the bar gleamed.

The clientele hadn't changed though. It was a place where there was definitely a protected card game going on in the back room, the pale fellow at the end of the bar was more than likely a vampire, and yes, that scorch mark on the bar was from a drunken disagreement that ended in drawn wands. The Cactus Cat was a place where decent, upstanding witches and wizards could come and feel naughty as they rubbed elbows with the rougher element, and do so in relative safety.

The reason was the layers and layers of wards that the owner had laid on the Cactus Cat. No one could Apparate straight inside and a series of quick Apparations or a group of more than five appearing in the alleyway outside would alert her. She could essentially put the place on lockdown for long enough for less-savory characters to Disapparate and then open the doors to the Aurors with an entirely non-offensive patronage.

The door swung open. This early in the day, barely afternoon, the place was closed and empty of patrons, or close enough.

A blonde young woman in a fur-lined coat strode in and lifted her cloche from her head, settling it on one end of the bar.

"What've you got, Iliana?"

Elvira Blödgarmr stepped up to the bar clad in trousers, a white button-front shirt, and a jewel-toned waistcoat over her suspenders. A long brown braid ran down her back and over one shoulder was tossed a damp rag for cleaning up behind the messier of her patrons. Her cane leaned against the bar next to her. She was the reason the Auror office hated the Cactus Cat with a passion.

"This," Iliana replied, smacking a piece of paper down on the bar with a disgusted look on her face.

From near the small stage where Iliana spent most of her night singing away, backed by magically animated instruments, emerged a pale-faced witch with vivid red hair.

"Aye," Niamh O'Reilly said as she picked up the flyer and turned it over in her hands. "That's the same poster that Barebone woman was trying to get my Jamie to pass about." Second-generation Irish, her accent was detectable but hard to identify.

"Says what the woman knows about real magic, that she handed this off to a young wizard," Elvira scoffed as she rounded the bar to look over Niamh's shoulder. Niamh didn't look convinced.

"That's why I came to you, Ellie. People know you do… _favors_ for people around town."

Elvira raised an eyebrow. "Put like that you make me sound like a hooker, Niamh."

"Their church is on Pike Street!" Niamh insisted. "They live two blocks away! I want to make sure it's safe to let my children out of the house, that these people are going to… to burn them at the stake!"

"Now, they never did that sort of nonsense here," Iliana sooth, placing a gloved hand on Niamh's shoulder as the older woman threw up her hands. "They hanged people in the US."

Elvira snapped her fingers sternly in her half-sister's face. "Oi, Annie. Less historical accuracy, more comforting, eh?"

Iliana blushed and dipped her head. "Ah, yes. Sorry."

"You'll keep looking?" Niamh asked, reaching over to grip Elvira's arm fiercely right over the sleeve garter. Elvira nodded, wincing slightly as she extracted herself from the fearful mother. She patted Niamh's shoulder supportively.

"Don't worry, Niamh, I'll look into it some and so will Iliana." Iliana nodded in agreement. "We'll let you know what we find. Maybe been Thomas and Margaret on a tighter leash for a week until we've a good idea of what we're dealing with," she advised. "Then we can talk again."

Niamh took a deep breath quieting herself. "Alright." She nodded determinedly and reached up to pat a curl of red back into place. "Alright, that's good. I'll… I'll come back in a week?"

"Right you will," Elvira said, gripping her shoulders tightly and starting to steer Niamh towards the door. Niamh continued to nod to herself, mumbling under her breath as she went.

"Harry told me I was being paranoid, they're two blocks away, but the kind of material they're spreading around…"

"They're probably all bark and no bite, Niamh," the bartender continued. "Some crazy No-Majs get a wild hair up their asses about magic and start yelling… And if we should find anything to the contrary, I'll do you up a blood spell to help you keep an eye on them."

Niamh balked in the doorway, turning even paler at the mention of blood magic. "Oh, no, now I don't think…"

"We'll talk when you come back in a week," Elvira backtracked, and Niamh seemed relieved.

"Alright. And thank you, really, both of you," Niamh said, looking back over her shoulder at Iliana lingering by the bar. The singer smiled and tilted her head.

"Of course, Niamh."

"I wasn't sure you know, given what they say about you two," Niamh added. "But I think I made the right decision."

With that parting comment, she swept from the bar. Elvira let the door slam shut behind her before raising both hands and making a rude gesture.

"Elvira!" Iliana hissed.

"Oh yes 'what they say about us' but perfectly fine to let us do your dirty work, huh?" Elvira muttered spitefully as she flicked her wrist at the door. There was a loud click as it locked and Elvira gestured for Iliana to follow her back to the flyer abandoned on a table by the stage.

Illustrated on it were a pair of pale hands snapping a wand in front of a background of flames. Across the top was the name New Salem Philanthropic Society and across the bottom was the address of the tiny church o Pike Street that the group called home.

"Philanthropic, right," Elvira sneered.

"You don't know," Iliana chided. "They may do some good in their community!"

"Annie, honey, I don't trust anyone named Barebone on principal," Elvira replied, shaking her head. "They could be called 'Sunshine and Puppies for All' and I'd still be skeptical. I'm just not a fan of racists."

"Because I adore them," Iliana replied, eyes going flinty. She snatched up her cloche, crumpling the brim a bit as she did. Elvira winced, striding forward. She wrapped her arms around her sister and pulled her into a hug. Iliana resisted for a moment before relaxing against her and hugging back. Elvira patted her platinum-blonde hair, the most obvious sign of her sister being half-veela, the half where they didn't share a parent.

Their father, Absalom Blödgarmr, was what would have been politely termed 'eccentric' had he a bit more money to his name. Since he was only moderately situated, he was more likely termed 'crazy' or 'mad' by his friends and neighbors or 'criminal' and 'dangerous' by MACUSA. He had a fondness for studying old and archaic forms of magic, quite a bit of which was fairly illegal. Study was fine, but practice was against the law, and MACUSA was confident he was a practitioner despite the fact that he could never get proof. There was also the fact that he travelled hither and yon looking for new things to research and so there was no guarantee that he'd done _this_ spell that was illegal in _that_ country while actually _in_ that country, if he'd done it at all.

On one particular occasion, he'd come back from a year-long trip in Eastern Europe with a half-veela daughter, and thus Iliana became part of the family.

"You should have seen her wards," Iliana said quietly as she pulled back, and Elvira raised an eyebrow, leaning backwards against the bar, propping up her elbows.

"What about them?"

"The little girl… I've never seen a girl that young look that sad. And the older one, her eyes were just… mean. Like she wouldn't put you out if you were on fire if it didn't benefit her. And the boy…"

"That nasty?" Elvira asked, wrinkling her brow in concern. "I suppose he's the muscle behind his guardian."

Iliana shook her head quickly. "By Rebeccah Nurse, no! The exact opposite! He couldn't even look me in the eye, and when he handed me the flyer… Do you… remember Abigail Schultz?"

Elvira's eyes hardened. Abigail Schultz was a name that was hard to forget. She'd come to Elvira for legal advice when Iliana was much younger. Iliana had been sent from the room, but she'd crept to the door to watch as her sister had slowly peeled the woman's clothes away and revealed the split skin on her back from belt lashes. Abigail was a witch who had married a No-Maj and was living in secret, terrified both of using her power unfairly against her husband and of appearing on MACUSA's radar. Iliana had stared in horror, shocked by how the leather had dug into the woman's sensitive flesh and the way the wounds peels back at the edges, glistening pink visible beneath the blood.

"Yeah, I remember Abigail Schultz," Elvira answered darkly.

"His hands." Iliana flexed her own to illustrate. "He had the same marks. I've never seen someone look so…" She struggled for a moment to find a work that described exactly how pitiful the sight was. _"Beaten."_

Iliana was used to making an impression. It was impossible not to be when she was quite often the most attractive woman in the room. But the reactions, on the occasions when they were dangerous, usually leaned towards either overconfidence, or complete muteness. To see a boy her own age who looked outright afraid of her and for no good reason was… new. Alarming.

"It's not just magical kids in her area we need to worry about then," Elvira muttered thoughtfully. "It's her own."

Iliana nodded her agreement, but she was more hesitant. After a moment of silence during which Elvira chewed her lip and frowned as she tried to plot her next course, she spoke.

"Should we… be doing this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Giving a no-interest loan to help someone out of a tight spot, making a potion or doing a spell, helping a wife with an abusive husband… That's one thing. But if this goes badly, then we could be accused of attacking No-Majs. That's jail right there, if we're lucky, which we wouldn't be because neither of us even graduated from Ilvermorny and statistically-"

"Breathe," Elvira cautioned with a faint quirk of her lips. "And I'll agree that this is a bit bigger than what we normally deal with – what Niamh called 'favors' – but if this Barebone woman ever actually manages to get any traction on her beliefs then this could get very dangerous very quickly for witches and wizards in New York. I think the fact that they brought up Salem makes it pretty clear that their focus is on extermination," she added grimly. "We'd be safe, this place is warded tighter than a flobberworm's anus but how many others might get caught in the crossfire, No-Maj and magical alike?"

Iliana's mind drifted back to scarred hands and brown eyes that she only saw for a moment before they were hidden.

"I understand."

Other people were already being caught in the crossfire it seemed, and not just Niamh O'Reilly's kids.

* * *

 _Mr. Scamander,_

 _Your comment about being at a disadvantage is truer than you realize. Your letter was addressed to Mr. Absalom Blödgarmr. I wasn't aware my father had ever met albus Dumbledore during his travels, though I'm not surprised he left a lasting impression. He tended to do that. Sadly, I regret to inform you that my father will have been dead for eight years in January, and is therefore unable to answer your questions._

 _However, you're lucky in one respect. While magizoology was more a hobby for my father – this being partially to do with the ban on beast ownership in the US and partially to do with his own dander allergy – it is an area of interest for me. If you're not, in fact, trying to make fun of the Blödgarmr family as many have before, then I welcome any and all questions you have about magical creatures endemic to the US._

 _Provided, of course, you don't mind answering a few in return. I'm assuming you've ranged much farther than I have in the course of writing the book you mentioned, and there are a few things I'd like answered for my own satisfaction._

 _I will await your owl with more information about the 'odd purchase' you made in Cairo. At a guess, I'm going to assume it was either a horned snake, re'em, or a thunderbird? There's a massive trade in those animals in particular due to their demand, sadly, for potions ingredients or wand cores in other countries. Egypt in particular as a major hub. Personally, I think it shows a great lack of imagination on the part of exotic beast owners. A thunderbird may be flashy, but have you ever had a loyal axehandle hound for a neck pillow at the end of a long day? There's really nothing better._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Elvira Blödgarmr_

 _P.S. Further correspondence will reach me more easily if directed to my bar, the Cactus Cat Lounge. Also a superior pet, as they make – frankly delightful – alcohol._

Newt stared at the paper in his hand in bemusement. He hadn't expected much when he'd written to Dumbledore asking for some advice. The man's prodigious academic career had put him in contact with people in all kinds of different fields, and Newt had unfortunately very little experience with animals native to the States. Their ban on beast ownership made exporting in a legal pet trade impossible.

Dumbledore had even raised the point in his reply that the ban made experts rare and hard to come by outside of MACUSA, which was exactly the group he needed to avoid. But Dumbledore had directed him to an Absalom Blödgarmr, who he had called 'a dabbler in a vast number of studies, some legal, many not, and a fascinating dinner guest.' In fact…

Newt rifled through his correspondence and found Dumbledore's letter, scanning through for the exact line.

 _Absalom is a member of a family with a bit of a reputation among the Americans. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I once heard a wizard from Pennsylvania use the expression 'he hasn't a sense that god gave a Blödgarmr.'_

It was unfortunate that the man himself was deceased, but his daughter seemed obliging, and so Newt pulled out a quill and a bottle of ink and set to writing.

 _Miss Blödgarmr,_

 _I'm terribly sorry to hear about your father, I hope my letter hadn't dredged up any unpleasant feelings. However, I'm very glad that you've agreed to correspond with me in spite of that._

 _About my acquisition in Cairo. Calling it a purchase would be slightly misleading, and I feel it only fair you know what you're dealing with…_

* * *

 **This is an idea I've been fiddling with for a while. Since the first movie came out really, and with the second coming out soon I decided I wanted to get it out there while the getting's good. I want to make it clear right now that this won't be nearly as long or involved as Lorena's saga, but much like To Be a Slytherin it's more for my own personal fun to address some problems I have with the FBWTFT movies.**

 **The main problem, really, is the Second Salemers. In New York City, the magical center of the US, there is exactly ONE AUROR who gives a crap that there's an anti-magic hate group. Especially when the leader is very obviously connected to the BIGGEST break in the Statue of Secrecy the country has ever seen. There's mention later only vaguely in connection to the anti-magic sentiment being stirred up by the Obscurial attacks, but that's the only real mention we have of the group being acknowledged by MACUSA. Call me crazy, but that seems wrong.**

 **Also, the whole beast ban in the US. I have questions. Namely, if all you have is a handful of Aurors for the entire population of New York City, then what's stopping people - particularly people out West when it was less connected than the country is now - from doing what they do now in many cases, which is whatever the hell they want? You're telling me nobody's got a single axehandle hound?**

 **Another quick thing - the US doesn't really have mythological creatures in the traditional sense many think of them. What we DO have are campfire tales primarily told by loggers, and you can look this up. They're called 'Fearsome Critters' and they are EXACTLY as ridiculous as animals you'd imagine drunk loggers would make up. I'll be using them for animals native to the US. Hey, those stories came form somewhere right?**

 **Also some of this is my own personal bit of fanservice. I absolutely adore Eddie Redmayne and Ezra Miller, and they're especially fabulous in these movies. However, I very much feel like Newt got a shoe-horned, adventure-driven romance plot in the first movie and poor Credence just got endlessly crapped on, up to and including being literally blown up.**

 **Last part of this incredibly verbose Author's Note is that I can't really guarantee regular updates. I'm in the final month of a semester-long study abroad program now, which means the usual flood of finals prep and projects due plus the added aspects of booking flights, packing, finishing up bucket list items... Essentially, I'm very busy and unlike with Lorena, there's no way I can update like clockwork.**

 **There, I think that's everything! Please, let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

When Credence walked down for breakfast the next morning, he knew something was wrong. Modesty had her eyes fixed determinedly on her plate but wasn't eating. She was simply pushed her food back and forth, the tines of her fork tapping. Ma was sitting at the table with her hands folded in her lap, her food growing cold in front of her. There was no plate waiting for him.

The sound of plates clanking and water splashing drew his eye to where Chastity stood beside the sink, already cleaning the dishes she'd used for breakfast. There was nothing set aside for him.

No breakfast then.

"Good morning," Credence said softly, fighting the urge to turn and run. His heart was racing in his chest and his mouth felt dry. Chastity had _seen_. Chastity had _told._

"No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it." Slowly, almost mechanically, Mary Lou's face turned to him. "Chastity said she saw you holding hands with a woman in front of the library yesterday."

"Ma, no…" Credence begged. "I didn't… I wouldn't…"

"You would call your sister a liar, then?" Ma demanded, rising to her feet. Her voice cracked like a leather belt and Credence flinched, pressing back against the wall, like having something behind him would save him. He knew it wouldn't, he knew she would throw him to the ground and beat him no matter what he did, but he would take small moment of comfort where he could get them.

"N-No… I… She was just…" Credence struggled to explain. "Sh-She saw my hands. She asked… wh-what happened."

Ma's eyes widened, nostrils flaring in rage. "And what did you say?"

"I-I didn't lie!" Credence was desperate to make her understand that, because maybe that would make a difference. Maybe this time she'd listen. Maybe this time she'd forgive him. "I j-just said… I said…"

" _Speak!"_ Mary Lou barked, and the sudden loud noise, when she had thus far been so icily calm, startled a small whine from his lips. Ma sneered. "You cannot even answer me. You are pathetic, Credence. Unable to even answer your mother's questions, crying like a child. Chastity came to me out of concern for your soul. She feared her brother was being led astray by a temptress."

"N-No, I didn't..."

"Chastity is a good and loyal sister, trying to protect you from sins of the flesh. Look at your sister. Thank her!" Mary Lou ordered.

"Thank you, Chastity," Credence mumbled to the floor, trying to stay as small and non-offensive as possible.

" _Look at her!"_ Mary Lou shrieked, and Credence jerked again, shoulders coming up to his ears. Instinctively he tried to curl his hand into fists like that would protect his sensitive palms from a belt this time but his fingers were still too sore, the cuts too raw. It hurt just to close his hands.

Credence barely tilted his head up, careful to keep is eyes on Chastity's forehead on instead of her eyes. She was better than him, she'd been good, she'd tried to protect him from that girl – _but she was a nice, wasn't she?_ – and he had been weak, letting her touch him.

"T-Thank you, Chastity," he said again.

"All I have done for you, all I have tried to teach you. I have beaten the devil away from you three tainted children with my own hands," Mary Lou said with something that sounded like it should have been mournfulness but simply… wasn't. "I should not have thought you were capable of resisting a pretty face, Credence. I should not have had so much faith in you."

Her hands closed on his wrists and Credence began to thrash weakly because it wouldn't help, it never helped, but his hands were so painful that anything further done to them and he thought he might cry.

"You are _weak!"_ she berated him. "You are _pathetic!"_

Ma dragged him towards the sink, her fingernails digging into the sensitive undersides of his wrists and raising little crescents of torn skin. Credence understood what she meant to do as Chastity quickly stepped away from the scalding water, reaching for Modesty to rush the girl from the room with reddened hands.

" _No!"_ This time Credence's shriek was desperate. "Please, Ma, I don't know her…Sh-She's not… I _never…_ Please, ma _, please!"_ He begged for mercy.

"Since Christ suffered in his body, arm yourselves also with the same attitude, because whoever suffers in the body is done with sin!" Mary Lou intoned, and then she yanked his hands forwards and plunged them into the hot water.

Credence screamed, sagging against the edge of the sink. It felt like she'd just immersed his hands in lava, the raw skin seeming to absorb the heat and bury it deep into his bones, lightning ripping through his blood. He could feel it all the way up to his elbow, aside from the ring of numbness where Ma's hands gripped him like a vice. He sobbed and felt like retching as the scabs that had formed split open. Ribbons of his blood wormed through the brown-grey water. The sight of it was sickening.

After what felt like hours Ma released his wrists. Credence wrenched his hands from the water, sending up a spray of dirty water and bubbles as he clutched them to his chest. His own feet tangled under him and he crashed down, landing hard on his tailbone and toppling backwards. He rolled bonelessly onto his side, clutching his burned and bleeding hands to his chest, hoping and praying that this was it, that she wouldn't ask for his belt.

"If you will allow the devil to pollute your soul, then I must be the one to tear him free," Mary Lou said, standing over him as he wept. And with that she turned and walked from the kitchen, leaving Credence curled and crying.

Credence trembled, wondering what he had done wrong. The girl had been so kind. Was it wrong just to talk to her? She had seemed so concerned for him, and that was something he had craved for longer than he could remember. For someone to _care_ , even just for a second. He hadn't lied to her, and no matter what Chastity said, he hadn't held her hands, he would never dare to touch her like that.

Because deep in his gut Credence was certain – he didn't know quite how, but she was different, special. Not a bad kind of special, no. A very good kind of different. The kind of something new that had soft hands and gentle eyes and didn't look through him or, even worse, focus on him only to cause him pain. The kind of something new that he'd prayed for secretly whenever Mary Lou reminded him of how lucky he was that she had saved him from a house of godlessness and sin.

He was fully aware that the girl had probably forgotten he even existed. Maybe she would remember him vaguely if she stuck her hand in the pocket of her dress and felt paper crinkle. She'd pull out the pamphlet and smooth it out and spend a moment remembering where it had come from. And maybe, if he was very lucky, she'd take a moment to wonder what ever happened to the boy with the bloodied hands. Even though he would probably never see her again, knowing that he might cross someone else's mind, might be something important for a few seconds, was a heady thought.

An arrogant thought. A prideful thought. A sinful thought.

Credence moaned. No matter what he did, even within the confines of his head, he was a sinner, and no matter what Mary Lou did to him, she would never manage to beat it out of him.

He knew, around the fuzzy, blocked memories from when he was very young, before Chastity and Modesty, that he was foul. He remembered staring into the window of a toy store and wishing he could have the stuffed rabbit on display. A moment later, an identical toy had been in his arms. Mary Lou had shrieked at him for using evil powers to cheat and steal and burned the rabbit before his eyes, stuffing going up in flames. Those small moments of unnaturalness had plagued his childhood, but they had long-since faded.

Credence knew it was still there though. That evil that was under his skin no matter how many times Ma tried to bleed it from him – it lurked. It swirled in his stomach, angry and dark and bitter, and he had lived for so long forcing it down deep where it couldn't get out, couldn't do something that would earn him another punishment, that it was almost second nature. That didn't make it go away though, it was jus putting a lid on the pot and hoping whatever was inside wouldn't boil over.

He was terrified it would.

He was terrified he wanted it to.

He was terrified of himself.

* * *

 _Miss Blödgarmr,_

 _I'm terribly sorry to hear about your father, I hope my letter hasn't dredged up any unpleasant feelings. However, I'm very glad that you've agreed to correspond with me in spite of that._

 _About my acquisition in Cairo: calling it a purchase would be slightly misleading, and I feel it only fair you know what you're dealing with. You were exactly right when you took a guess about the black market trade of magical creatures. It's unfortunate, but occasionally my research puts me in contact with less-than-savoury characters and I come across creatures in truly pitiable situations._

 _That's exactly that happened. A thunderbird was showing signs of stress, which as you likely know, can be fatal. I found it chained in a marketplace plucking its own feathers out. You should have seen the state he was in. I hope you can understand that I couldn't leave him there, so I broke him free and smuggled him from the country._

 _However, as you can probably imagine, this is quite a bit larger of an undertaking than simply working on my manuscript. I confess that, things being as they are, I know precious little of North American magical creatures. For example, I have regrettably never even heard of a cactus cat, though it sounds fascinating!_

 _I will understand if you are no longer willing to correspond with me. What I'm doing is, after all, illegal, and I wouldn't blame you at all if you didn't want to risk being involved. However, if you're willing to help then I need some advice. Primarily, what would be closest to Frank's – that's what I've decided to call him – natural diet and range? Are there any common diseases I should check for signs of? Any common pitfalls to be wary of?_

 _Your help is most invaluable, Miss Blödgarmr, I truly don't know how to repay you._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Newt Scamander_

"What are you smiling about?"

Elvira looked up from her desk in the flat above the Cactus Cat where she and Iliana lived. Her sister was dressed for bed in a light mint-green peignoir set, a book tucked under her arm and her hair put up in pin curls for the next day. Elvira was still dressed, though admittedly relaxed. Her waistcoat hung on the corner of her chair and her suspenders were shoved off her shoulders to hang by her hips. She'd abandoned the sleeve garters on the floor by her stockinged feet and rolled her sleeves up to her elbows, unbuttoning the first few buttons. Finally, in the safety of her own home, Elvira wore a pair of thin-framed spectacles perched low on her nose.

"My new pen pal," she replied, brandishing her letter as Iliana stepped into the room curiously.

"The man who wrote you about Egypt?" she asked, and Elvira nodded. Iliana perched herself on the corner of her sister's desk and reached out for the letter curiously. Elvira moved fast, snatching the letter back. Iliana raised an eyebrow.

"What's wrong?" she demanded. "Why can't I see?"

"No reason," Elvira admitted, feeling flustered. Something about this, about being contacted out of the blue by a man wandering the world to do research was a bit fantastic. Granted, last evening she'd watched a werewolf, a vampire, and a goblin absolutely fleece an unsuspecting young wizard at the card table, and many people might find that fantastic. To her it was another Thursday night. This was… different. Special. Elvira couldn't explain why, but she'd always trusted her gut and it had never once steered her wrong.

"He's worried about involving me in illegal activity," Elvira offered instead of explaining herself, tucking the letter away into a drawer of her desk. "Ain't that sweet?" she simpered.

Iliana scoffed. "Clearly he hasn't met you. I'd be shocked if he found some kind of illegal activity you haven't already partaken in."

"You know, I have yet to commit… no, damn, last August… Alright, fair," Elvira submitted. "But he's gotten his hands on a thunderbird somehow and…"

"Oh, a thunderbird!" Iliana gasped in delight, pressing her palms to the wood and leaning in. Her sudden movement sent her foot swinging forward to hit Elvira's cane where it leaned against the desk. Elvira caught and straightened it without blinking. "I haven't seen one since we moved back East!"

"I know," Elvira nodded in agreement, remembering vividly the time when she and Iliana had been in Arizona hunting down a contact of their father's. They'd been riding through some canyons – it really was the best way to get around and besides, both women loved riding – when a storm had suddenly kicked up. It was so abrupt that the only explanation had been magic, and sure enough they had spotted a thunderbird high above them, streaking down the canyon. They'd taken off laughing after it, getting soaked to the bone until the bird peeled off down a side channel and they had to continue on, winded and wet but giddy.

They'd had an admittedly interesting childhood, based in the fairly lawless west where their father was able to conduct his research without weekly check-ins from MACUSA. Without Ilvermorny filling their year with classes and homework they'd been free to spend hands-on time learning about anything and everything they wanted and their father's friends had been happy to correspond with them about anything they wanted to know. It was a very nontraditional childhood, but it meant that by the time Iliana was seventeen and Elvira was twenty-seven, they had more field experience than most researchers twice their age.

"You should warn him though, you know," Iliana commented, sliding from the desk and adjusting her book under her arm. "When you write him back, I mean. He may think he's getting you in trouble but I think you're just as capable of doing the same."

"True," Elvira allowed, leaning back in her chair and stretching her feet out under her desk. She crossed her legs at the ankles and gave a long stretch, arching her back and lifting her arms above her head. "Case in point," she said, voice slightly strained as her back let out an alarming series of pops, "can you hit up another Salem meeting tomorrow afternoon? I hear they're going to be on Wall Street tomorrow and I really don't want those people near that kind of money."

Iliana winced, imagining the damage a fanatic like Mary Lou Barebone could do if she had the money to back up her ideals. It wasn't a pretty picture. "Sure. I was thinking of going shopping anyway so I'll already be out."

"Shopping for what?" Elvira asked in bemusement.

"The Halloween night that's coming up in a few weeks?" Iliana replied, arching an eyebrow. "You know, the one happening downstairs in your bar?"

"Alright, off to bed with you, no need to get snippy," Elvira huffed, waving her hand in the direction of the door. The other reached for a piece of paper and a pen. She planned to write back to Mr. Scamander tonight, and then she would head to bed.

* * *

 _Mr. Scamander,_

 _It's sweet of you to worry about getting me involved in your illegal activities, really it is, but it's not necessary. I see whoever gave you my father's name didn't quite communicate his reputation or the reputation of my family, so I feel compelled to inform you as to who you're dealing with._

 _Once upon a time, Blödgarmr was a revered name in the United States. We were among the first Aurors in the United States, a lauded group at the time given the amount of Scourers running around trying to wipe out anything more magical than a toadstool. My ancestor, Fridolf Blödgarmr was among them and he was less than thrilled with the way MACUSA was developing. So he ran off to the west and returned to his first love, which was botany. Of course, to everyone else, this was considered abandoning his duty and his country._

 _Since then, we Blödgarmr have been considered eccentric by most and downright criminal by MACUSA. Currently, I own a bar which is frequented by less-than-savory members of society, to use your words. MACUSA would love to arrest me on any number of charges relating to that. However I'm particularly good with warding and they are unable to do break into the Cactus Cat Lounge in order to raid it and get what they need. For other reasons, I'm not physically capable of leaving New York City based on other charges I_ _ **was**_ _convicted of._

 _Nothing I'm ashamed of, to be clear, and no violent crime that you need to be concerned about either._

 _But now that you're aware of what you're dealing with, I'll answer your questions. Thunderbirds tend to like high, rocky paces. They're common in Arizona and like to make their homes in caves in cliff faces. Any smallish mammals should do for Frank. Rats, rabbits, the odd fox. Just make sure that there are some rocks around in whatever habitat you're keeping him in as they like to sharpen their claws._

 _I'm enclosing a recipe for a poultice developed by my great-great-great aunt Ingrid that will help soothe poor Frank's plucked spots. The smell will be calming to him and the poultice itself should help encourage regrowth of feathers. As an added bonus, it tastes utterly foul and so will likely discourage him to continue plucking… at least in that area._

 _You're actually at an advantage, though you may not see it. If you can get Frank to bond with you, then his ability to sense danger and react to it will extend to you. He will alert you of any potential danger to you that he can sense. There are reports of thunderbirds who bonded with witches and wizards in the past actually swooping down and carrying them off ahead of an attack or natural disaster. While Frank might not be feeling up too much swooping, he should react by flaring his wings and cawing. He may also fly in circles a bit._

 _To keep an eye out for disease, I'd recommend keeping an eye on his talons. As you might expect, that's where many warning signs manifest. Any discoloration, cracking, or peeling would be a sign that something's wrong. Normally I'd say watch out for plucking as well, but we've already established that he's doing that. If he begins to do it more often, that's also a warning sign. Going off his food would be another major warning as thunderbirds need to eat a lot and often. Keep feeding him until he will not eat anymore the first few weeks – he'll likely need the energy and nutrients – then back him down to a more reasonable diet._

 _I would have offered to join you in releasing Frank, but now you know why I can't. That being said, you'll likely arrive in New York City at some point, and I would enjoy meeting you, Mr. Scamander._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Elvira Blodgarmr_

 _P.S. I've enclosed pictures of both an axe-handle hound and a cactus cat._

Newt picked up the envelope and let it pour out onto his lap. Out fluttered two pictures and a second bit of paper. He set the potion aside to go over later and check against his stores of ingredients – hopefully he had everything he needed – and instead picked up the two pictures.

One seemed to have been taken in the middle of a desert. It featured a creature that looked like the offspring of a porcupine and a bobcat with a long, branching tail. As Newt watched, the cat raised its tail and swiped at a cactus, tearing long lines into the flesh of the plant. The cat then curled up in the shade, eyes locked on the cactus, and seemed to wait. Newt tilted his head and observed the cat curiously. It glared up at him from the picture, letting out a piercing yowl and swatting at him warningly.

"Alright, alright," he assured it, setting the picture aside face-down so as not to bother the thing anymore.

The second picture was taking inside of someone's living room. A very tall woman was stretched out across a couch. She was dressed in men's clothes, a waistcoat buttoned up her stomach and trousers covering her legs. Curled up along the arm of the couch was a creature that was unmistakably canine, but had a face shaped like the head of an axe handle and an impossibly skinny body. That body was wrapped around the woman's shoulders as her head reclined back, holding a newspaper over her face.

As Newt watched, the woman reached down to a small bowl beside the couch and lifted out a stick. She held it over her shoulder and the dog eagerly devoured it. She sputtered as its tail began to wag, whapping her in the face, and dropped the newspaper very ungracefully on her face as she tried to swat it away.

Newt chuckled, wondering if this was Miss Elvira Blodgarmr. She certainly didn't look dangerous or criminal despite what she'd said in her letter. Newt had never heard of such a thing! Tying a witch to a specific town and refusing to allow her to travel seemed cruel, and he wondered what Miss Blodgarmr had done. Nothing violent, she had assured him, but she had done something, and something fairly bad it would seem.

Newt began to peer into the background of the picture to try and find any details that would explain. The picture was taken from somewhere off the ground, that he could tell from the view of windows outside. There was a cane propped against the end of the couch, though there was no guarantee it belonged to her. It could have easily been her father's – the only way to date the picture was the newspaper and it was too small to read. All in all, it looked like a perfectly normal flat, which was rather surprising.

Miss Blodgarmr herself wasn't what he'd expected. He didn't quite know what he'd imagined, but it certainly wasn't this. Dark-haired, he couldn't make a guess at her eye color, but the way she was sprawled out was almost masculine and as he watched, the picture picked up a leg and draped it over the back of the couch casually. She had broad shoulders and, Newt noticed with a blush, the curves to balance it out.

It was nice to be able to put a face to the name though, to have a picture in his head of who he was writing to. Newt took this picture and leaned it up against the silver-framed picture of Leta. The difference between the two women could not have been more stark – a professional portrait taken to flatter Leta's dark, exotic looks compared to a candid snapshot of Miss Blodgarmr relaxing in her living room. Yet there was something about the confident way they both seemed to hold themselves that almost matched, and Newt nodded to himself.

So Miss Blodgarmr wasn't exactly an innocent, but neither was he. Newt closed his eyes and secretly prayed that she never found out he hadn't finished Hogwarts – that had nearly kept him out of the Ministry. He doubted it would impress her overmuch considering how many doors it had already closed to him in the past.

 _Miss Blodgarmr,_

 _Thank you for the pictures and the potion, both are very welcome. I would very much like to meet should I find myself in New York City, and I very likely will. There's a few things I must finish up in Africa, reports from the west that I would like to look into, but I believe I will be heading to the States after that…_


	3. Chapter 3

_She was back._

He could dimly hear Ma yelling from the steps of Federal Hall, George Washington standing near her. She liked her symbols and her statues, his Ma. But the Wall Street spot was even less successful than the last spot. Here, people hadn't the time to stop and listen for even a few minutes of entertainment. Here, men made and lost fortunes and they couldn't have cared less about Ma and her signs or her wards in their dowdy clothes. These men wore straw hats and three-piece suits, and Credence had exactly one pair of third-hand shoes to his name.

He didn't know how he knew, but he did. Like someone had just breathed down the back of his neck or walked over his grave. It was a sensation he couldn't quite place but it was as real as the ground beneath his feet, and he'd only felt that sensation once before.

He had a little bit of luxury, since he, Chastity, and Modesty were scattered down the road, Modesty closest to Ma and him farthest away. Chastity hovered by the doors of the Stock Exchange, and he'd passed her moments before on the way to his spot, looking quietly furious as men breezed past her like she was part of the building.

Credence didn't even have to try to fade back into the shadows. All it took was a small back step into a niche in the façade of a building and he was gone from view, people paying him as little attention as they did Chastity.

All he had to do was take a moment to focus, to listen to his gut – the guiding hand of God, his Ma would correct him with a screech – and he found her.

She was standing under a sign advertising ice skates and sweaters, trying to get a jump on the cold season now that it was fall. Her dress was a brilliant indigo that matched her hat, which had babies' breath stuck in the brim. Her hair looked nearly white against the color, done up in curls and hanging to her shoulders. Her lips were painted that same wonderful shade of red, and she wore a camel coat that clashed nicely against her dress. Shopping bags were draped over her arm with labels on them that he'd seen Chastity eye covetously.

She stood next to an equally well-dressed woman with a young child's hand held firmly in her own. They were chatting pleasantly, the woman's other hand holding a sack lunch. She was probably on her way to deliver it to her husband, along with herself and their son for a surprise visit at the office.

Credence watched jealously, trying to imagine what it would be like to be one of the men in the straw boaters, wallets full, commanding respect wherever they tread, with no one and nothing to answer to. A loving wife who would visit him in the middle of the day to drop of a lunch she'd made herself because she loved him. On her heels would come a young boy, his own son, who would never know what it was like to walk the length of the city in shoes that were two sizes too small or feel the touch of a belt on his skin.

The very idea of a life like that was so close to heaven Credence felt guilty for thinking it up. Surely a life like that wasn't for him. A successful job, respect from others, a loving wife and son… Those things weren't for the likes of him.

But how he craved them! Standing there watching the girl – he didn't even know her name, he wanted to know so badly – he could see it clear as day and she starred in his fantasy. Himself behind a heavy wooden desk, looking up from important papers as she walked in. She would perch on the edge of his chair and press a kiss to his lips like it was the most natural thing in the world, because this was Credence's fantasy and in his fantasy it _was_ normal for them. She would produce lunch and it would be his favorites, made herself because she had to be a good cook, after all, she seemed too perfect to be real already. Their son, with his dark hair and her luminous blue eyes, would peer up at him, chin resting on his knee, and he'd look at Credence like he was a man worth looking at, and everything would be perfect.

And somehow, she had to go and add to his fantasy. She smiled, setting her shopping bags on the pavement beside her as she crouched. Credence couldn't quite tell, but it looked like all she did was flick her wrist and produce a brightly-wrapped candy, which the offered to the delighted child with a laugh that he was sadly too far away to hear. He'd seen the trick before from buskers on the street, he knew the candy was just hidden up her sleeve, but he was already half-convinced she was an angel, so why couldn't it be real magic?

The woman pulled her son away clutching his treat triumphantly and she straightened, picking up her shopping bags. She turned and smacked sharply into a man who was coming down the road towards her. One bag fell back to the ground from her startled hands. Immediately, the man bent and picked it up, offering it to her with a charmingly crooked smile and a wink.

Credence felt rage building inside of him, because that man was everything he wasn't. He was handsome, tall, broad, well-fed, well-educated. Doubtless the man's body wasn't littered with belt marks under his jacket the way Credence's was. His hands were probably smooth and unblemished and soft, unlike Credence's own oft-brutalized flesh.

She took the bag from him with a shy, polite smile and a nod. The man's grin widened and he caught her wrist – _don't touch her! You're not good enough to touch her!_ – and lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. He said something over the top of her hands and she smiled again, gently pulling her hand away. She made to step around him, only for him to quick-step into her path.

Credence had seen that look before. He'd seen it more than once. It was the look men gave to women that they wanted. He'd seen it so often, but never dared to direct it in any woman's direction. It spoke of confidence and charm and wit, not things he exactly had to offer.

But what he did have was a body that could take abuse, and he was perfectly happy to put it between the angel and the man who was daring to profane her with that look if it meant she could get away from him. She didn't want to be there, he could read it clear as day in the way her shoulders shifted and tightened, the way she rocked back onto her heels and subtly scooted away, looking ready to bolt.

The man reached out, fingers curled like he planned to trace them along her cheekbone or the line of her jaw. She surprised both of them by reaching up, pressing a finger to the man's mouth before he could say another thing. He looked frozen, eyes wide, and she calmly adjusted her bags and stepped to the side. Giving the man one last annoyed look, she took off down Nassau Street. It was only when she was gone from view that the man finally moved again, shaking his head and blinking like he couldn't figure out what had just happened.

Credence knew exactly what had happened. She'd dazzled him, the same way she had him when they first met.

It was good to see her. Validating, in a way, because even with the residual pain in his hands he still wasn't sure that he'd actually seen her that day, because she couldn't be real. Even more gratifying, she'd rejected the man in the straw boater, the one who had everything, and that gave Credence hope. Hope for what, he wasn't sure, but it was hope nonetheless and it buoyed him enough to drive him out of his hiding place and return to passing out flyers, a secret warmth twisting inside of him.

* * *

" _Oh I wish I had someone to love me,"_ Iliana crooned on stage dressed in a short spangled silver dress. _"Someone to call me their own. Oh, I wish I had someone to live with, 'cause I'm tired of livin' alone."_

It was a typical night in the Cactus Cat. While Elvira manned the bar her sister sang, backed by magically animated instruments. She set a quintet of shots of the house special, Cactus Cat Juice, a highly potent and highly illegal form of alcohol, on a tray and waved her hand. It took off, floating through the door into the back room where a goblin, a vampire, two werewolves, and a garden-variety wizard were playing poker with quite a few dragots on the line.

"Iliana sounds lovely tonight," commented a regular near the bar. His name was Alfred Plonker. He was a brewer, able to whip up everything from a dose Pepper-Up for a housewife with a sniffling child to a cauldron of Polyjuice for those with more nefarious things in mind. He wasn't picky about who his clientele were – "a dragot's a dragot after all!" – and as such he often found himself meeting in places that bordered polite society, much like the Cactus Cat.

"She does," Elvira agreed, casting a glance up at her sister on stage. Iliana reached up, stroking a gloved hand up the microphone stand seductively. "Got a date tonight?" she asked, nodding to the rose resting by his hand.

Alfred smiled smugly. "Matter of fact, I do! A nice young lady came to me for some moonseed extract-"

"That stuff's poisonous. You sure she's a nice young lady?" Elvira challenged, one eyebrow raised.

"Nice enough." Alfred waved off her concerns. "I figured I'd show her my favorite bar." He nodded and winked at her slyly. Elvira blinked.

"You angling for a free drink for your lady friend there, Alfie?"

Alfred winced at the nickname. "Aw, come on, Ellie!" he whined. "I bring in enough business, bringing my clients here to do hand-offs."

"Yeah, and give me heart palpitations every time hoping that MACUSA doesn't decide to do a raid those nights," she countered.

Alfred grinned cheekily. "Losing faith in your warding, Blodgarmr? Never thought I'd see the day."

Elvira's eyes narrowed. "Watch it, Plonker." One finger pointed squarely into the brewer's face. He had been to the Cactus Cat often enough to know that finger was as dangerous as a wand.

"Aw, Ellie," Alfred chuckled awkwardly, reaching up and gingerly guiding her finger in a safer direction. "You know I only tease you because I love ya!"

"Your date will be crushed," she replied drily, nodding in response to an order that was yelled down the bar. She grabbed a bottle of firewhiskey and a No-Maj Cola and mixed them together before sending the beverage skidding unerringly down the bar.

"If I could get you to go out with me, you think I'd be messing around with all these other dames?" Alfred asked wryly. "But you keep turning me down! You know I'm a stand-up guy…"

"I don't date men who come to my bar, Alfred," Elvira told him for the thousandth time. "They're never as clean-cut as they seem."

"What do you want with someone clean-cut anyway?" Alfred countered. "Girl like you needs a man with a little bit of adventure in him…" His hand crept towards hers across the bar.

The only thing that saved him from getting his hand a warning shock from a bartender who was all to used to being hit on was that someone else had attracted her ire.

"Come on, baby doll, get down from there and come to the back with me!" yelled a drunken German wizard who was seated next to the stage. Iliana shot him a withering look but didn't falter in her set, continuing to sing like nothing was going on. He grabbed his crotch lewdly. "I'll give you a little German sausage-"

Alfred scooped up his drink and rose and stepped aside a second before Elvira vaulted the bar with ease. He sighed and shook his head at the wizard's stupidity as Elvira's booted feet slammed to the ground. She straightened up, the German completely unaware of the danger he was in as he laughed drunkenly. Regulars, though, they knew he'd crossed a line and they moved out of the way as Elvira stormed forward, hand coming up.

The man's laughter suddenly choked. He seemed befuddled for a moment as his mouth opened and closed uselessly. Then the fear set in as he realized he couldn't breathe. He threw himself off his chair as he thrashed and clutched at his throat, trying to peel away the pressure he could feel there. Slowly, like a puppet being lifted off a stand, he was dragged upright so that his feet dangled above the floorboards. He rotated on the spot, turning to face Elvira.

Her face was a mask of disgust and protectiveness. One hand was poised like she was squeezing his throat even if she never made contact and the other was upraised, holding him aloft.

"You kiss your momma with that mouth?"

Iliana continued to sing even though the attention of the crowd was long-since lost. The minute they realized they were going to get to see Elvira lay down the law that night, they had leaned forward in interest to hear her quiet words.

"Sir… you come into my place and get drunk, that's fine. S'what it's for. But you start mouthing off to my sister like that… Then you're out on your ass."

The German was trying to bite out curses from the way his lips moved and the rage on his face, but he couldn't draw enough breath to make any sound come out.

"Thirty seconds and you're unconscious. Sixty and you're dead," Elvira said lightly. "So what's gonna happen is I'm gonna let you down, and you're gonna scram, otherwise I'm gonna see how long you last. Got it?"

The drunk crashed to the ground. Iliana rolled her eyes and lifted a hand as his foot connected with the table he'd been sitting at, sending it flying. Like her sister, she was capable of wandless magic, though she tended to prefer a wand. Instead of flying across the room, the table caught and righted itself, multiple shot glasses that used to hold gigglewater setting into neat lines with a musical tinkling sound.

The German got to his feet, spitting out curses in English and his own language. Elvira rolled his eyes and flicked her wrist, fingers twining in a complicated pattern. Once again the German choked, but this time it was because his tongue had just seen fit to roll back into his mouth , making it impossible for him to talk.

Elvira wasn't fooling around anymore. Alfred, still lingering by the door, obligingly moved to the door and pulled it open.

"Clear on the other side!" he called cheerfully as Elvira swung her arm like she was throwing a baseball. The German was picked clear off the floor and launched over the tables. He sailed cleanly out the door and landed in a crumpled heap on the sidewalk outside.

" _I have been a rover since I was a child, no one to love and care for me, knocked around all over, kinda grew up wild. My home's wherever I may be,"_ Iliana continued to sing as the bar settled back down, contented now that Elvira was brushing her hands together. _"Ain't no someone yearnin', wonderin' where I may be. I'm gone, but no one's missin' me."_

Alfred greeted her with a wink as Elvira took up her place behind the bar again. "Thanks for taking out the trash before my nice young lady showed up. Wouldn't want her to get the wrong impression of the place."

Elvira rolled her eyes and poured a shot of Cactus Cat Juice. Alfred's eyes lit up and he reached for it, thinking he'd gotten his free drink. This time he did catch that warning shock as Elvira batted his hand assigned, lifted the shot, and downed it in one without flinching.

* * *

 _Miss Bl_ _ö_ _dgarmr,_

 _While I admit that I'm still very curious as to what you were charged with, I'll do you the courtesy of not prying. You've been very good to me thus far and I don't want to press my luck. We hardly know each other well enough to be prying into each other's secrets._

 _Thank you very much for the pictures you sent to me. I appreciate any sort of new information about magizoology. These American creatures seem fascinating and I'll admit to being terribly ignorant. What is the purpose of slashing the cacti? And the axehandle hound, do they eat wood in general or is it a specific kind? Where are they native to? If and when I get to New York, I suspect I'll have a hundred questions for you._

 _Speaking of which, it shall be quite a while before I arrive in New York City I fear. My lead in West Africa is something I've never seen the likes of before and it's turned into quite a bit more of an adventure than I originally intended. Though I hesitate to rank such things, I believe this to be even more important than Frank's return to North America. Please, don't think less of me for that. Frank's cause is still very dear to my heart but this is… another level entirely. Forgive me, I'm hesitant to provide details._

 _I realize I never told you what I do: I'm currently writing a manuscript about magical creatures that will hopefully generate curiosity and interest in them on the part of our fellow witches and wizards, instead of simply a desire to reach for a wand. A sentiment which, I'd hazard a guess, you share?_

 _On the subject of Frank, I have brewed the potion you sent to me and it's been amazing! While my workspace does smell faintly of burnt rubber at the moment, it has cut his plucking in half. It's been an experience trying to win his trust enough to let me get close enough to put it on him, but I seem to be making progress. I'd probably be doing better if I didn't keep turning up in his enclosure to smear that stuff on him!_

 _Sincerely,_

 _Newt Scamander_

 _P.S. Was that you in the picture you sent me?_

()()()()()()()()

 _Mr. Scamander,_

 _I'm glad the potion has been working a treat for Frank. My aunt Ingrid's journals lead me to believe that you're right, you probably would be doing better without the potion, but sometimes such things are unavoidable. She had great success in her dealings with thunderbirds. Her interest came after she found one that had a wing ripped off in a territorial dispute protecting a nesting mate and egg. She took all three in, tending to the father and helping to raise the offspring. I'd be willing to send you copies of her notes if you'd be interested. I'd send the originals, but the books would take off a finger if you tried to open them since you're not a Blodgarmr._

 _Charming woman, my aunt Ingrid._

 _Thank you for not pressing me on the details of my conviction. I'll do you the same favor and not press for details on whatever you're up to in West Africa. I wouldn't be much help there anyway, as Africa is one place I never managed to make it to. I suspect now I never will. I'll simply say best of luck and leave it at that._

 _I'll be happy to answer any and all questions you have when you do finally make it here. I don't know what that would do to your publishing schedule, as I can talk for hours once you get me going on Fearsome Critters. You're right, I'd prefer it if witches and wizards tried to understand what they were dealing with, instead of just going in spells blazing. That's how you get nonsense like the Great Sasquatch Rebellion of 1892 and the Thornton Harkaway scandal. How people like Harkaway and Kneedander get into office is beyond me…_

 _Forgive the shortness of this letter. There's to be a Halloween event at my bar that always brings out the vampires and werewolves so I've been running myself to my whit's end trying to get enough blood and rare steak in stock for that, not to mention that a couple of wizards got into a duel in the back room over cards the other night so I've got repairs to make and idiots to ban. Luckily, they were nice enough to bleed all over the place so I'll be able to lock them out of the bar permanently. I take a very dim view on fighting._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Elvira Bl_ _ö_ _dgarmr_

 _P.S. Yes, it was me. I've never been very good at subtlety so I'll just say that I wouldn't be opposed to a picture of you. It would be nice to put a face to the words._

 _P.P.S. At this point in our correspondence you've admitted to illegal smuggling and I've confessed to running a bar that dabbles in illegal business. If it's alright with you, I believe we can dispense with the formalities, Newt._

Newt wasn't quite sure what to make of this most recent letter from Miss Blödgarmr – Elvira. She was right, formalities were a little silly for co-conspirators in illegal activities. He'd always been told that the American wizards were a lawless mess and that's why their MACUSA was so strict. While he still didn't agree with MACUSA on many things – not being allowed to marry Muggles, honestly – corresponding with Elvira wasn't exactly changing his mind on the lawless bit.

He could count on his fingers the amount of times he'd been in a fight, whereas it seemed to be a relatively common occurrence for her. He'd also rarely met someone who was comfortable with the idea of spending their evening in the company of vampires and werewolves, despite the fact that both could prove to be excellent company… provided you caught them at the right time. Elvira was quite the character it seemed, and he was more and more eager to meet her.

Newt's growing smile faded.

That would take some time. As he grew closer to his destination, following rumors and hearsay, more and more of what he was hearing was starting to sound like an Obscurial, and that made his stomach twist into knots. That was a person, not an animal, and he'd never been good with people. He wasn't sure that he was even remotely qualified to be dealing with this – but he was also fairly confident he was the only one who'd try to do anything other than just kill the girl to destroy the parasitic force inside of her.

Sharing that with Elvira… no. They'd only exchanged a handful of letters and Obscurials weren't Fearsome Critters. On that front, he had no way of knowing if she was a hex first and ask questions later frame of mind. She certainly seemed comfortable with violence in a way that he wasn't. If he explained what his plan was, the might cut ties entirely, and Newt was reluctant to do that. Short as their acquaintance had been, he looked forward to her letters and found himself more and more intrigued by the witch-cum-bartender.

Another thing he wasn't quite sure about was sending her a picture. Newt was fully aware that he wasn't what most people pictured when it came to wizards adventuring around exotic locales. He was hardly the broad-shouldered, dashing, swarthy type. He had ginger hair that never sat right according to his mother, an unsightly smattering of freckles across his whole body, and he burned bright red instead of tanning. 'Broad-shouldered' was certainly something he'd never been described as. 'Pencil' and 'twig' were more common.

But nevertheless, Newt's sense of fairness wouldn't let him be. He'd had pictures taken to go on the back of his book when it was finally published, and he'd decided to do them before he went travelling, while he still looked reasonably put together. It was the only decent picture of himself he had to hand and his chances of coming across a camera among the tribes he was visiting were laughably small.

Still feeling reluctant, Newt nevertheless plucked one of the headshots up and set it aside to be mailed off with his next letter.


	4. Chapter 4

Walking Gus around New York City was one of the ways Iliana decompressed, pulling her head out of her books or her music for some time to breathe. She could walk for hours with the axehandle hound disguised as a corgi or something else relatively small at her side, just wandering around to see what she could find. It was how she found the most interesting shops, the best cafes and restaurants, the most perfect places to just sit and observe.

Today, it was when she hit Bethesda Fountain that Iliana decided to settle in for a while. She took a few moments to stare appreciatively at the fall colors reflecting in the lake before hopping the balustrade. It was a bit tricky with Gus in her arms, but there was a gentle slope up to a few trees, and it was under a gnarled, squat one that Iliana decided to curl up.

She cast a quick look around before drawing her wand and turning her handkerchief into a large sheet, laying it out in the shade. Gus, panting a bit, eagerly laid down and Iliana situated herself next to him, back propped against the trunk. She spotted a dropped twig and picked it up, setting it in front of the hound. With a grateful woof, Gus began to gnaw at it.

Iliana reached into her purse and pulled out a copy of _Magical Theory of Magical Beings' Magic._ Despite having a terrible title, it was a fairly good treatise on the innate powers of magical beings. 'Beings' in this case meaning humanoid magical creatures such as merpeople, centaurs, and, of particular interest to her, veela.

She was just getting to the section on the veela's natural affinity for self-transfiguration and fire magic when she heard a strident voice echoing across the terrace.

"Now there is at Jerusalem by the sheep market a pool, which is called Bethesda! Whoever then first after the troubling of the waters stepped in was made whole of whatsoever disease he had!"

Iliana knew that voice perfectly after following the Second Salemers for several days in a row, but today she hadn't planned to run into them.

The anti-magic No-Majs that had been gathered outside of the library were at the foot of the fountain, their leader flanked by the large statue of the angel in the middle. Iliana moved up onto her knees and sat up, tilting her head and wondering if the choice was one the woman had made consciously.

"Magic is the disease afflicting New York City, and this place cannot purify all! It is down to us, the loyal lambs of god, to lead the witches to their destruction, to save our friends and neighbors!"

The woman yelling at the passers-by – many of whom looked annoyed at having their quiet afternoon at the park interrupted – was of little interest to Iliana. She was curious to see if that boy with the injured hands was there again. She wanted to know if he had listened to her, if the onions had helped. It was a No-Maj remedy, a potion or spell would have worked better, but it did do what she'd claimed and it was the best non-magical advice she could offer.

Among the woman's group there were two older men who were holding up the same banners with hands snapping wands that she'd seen last time, and she recognized the girl with blonde curls and dowdy dress as well. There was no sign of the boy though, and Iliana thought disappointedly he must have been left at home, and that didn't really bode well.

But then a flicker of black caught her eye, and she could see a wide-brimmed flat hat that was several decades out of style by one of the thick stone pillars of the balustrade, just at the corner of the bottom of the terrace. He was hiding, she realized, and she didn't blame him at all.

Iliana cast a vicious look at the woman speechifying. While some might say it wasn't any of her business what happened in another person's house, her particular situation and the fact that some seemed to think not being fully human meant she was basically an animal made her very sensitive to abuse of other people. Whatever that boy had done, short of pulling out a gun and trying to shoot someone, he definitely didn't deserve to have a leather strap taken to his hands.

Loosely gripping Gus's leash, Iliana turned her blanket back into a handkerchief and stuffed it into her pocket, stowing her book away. She carefully picked her way down the hill to the pillar where the boy stood.

"Hello?" she said softly, remembering the way he'd jumped and recoiled when she'd touched him last time. "Do you remember me?"

He still whipped around, but the cringing wasn't quite as prevalent. He made eye contact with her just long enough for her to register the surprise and fear in his dark eyes before he looked away. He didn't even seem able to make eye contact.

Again Iliana was reminded of a stray her father had brought home – a habit that Elvira had inherited. In his case, it had been an Aethonian covered in whip marks with cracked hooves. It was the one horse she had been forbidden to go near, given that she was still quite young and the horse was so skittish. She remembered watching her father work with it in the ring, the horse dancing this way and that, tossing its head, running the length of the fence to try and get away from him. It had taken Absalom weeks and weeks of patience to get the horse even comfortable with being around him, let alone being worked with and trained.

The fear, the anticipation of pain, that Iliana had seen in that animal's eyes was echoed in his and her heart absolutely broke even as she felt physically sick to her stomach at the thought of what must have happened to him to make him like this.

"What's your name?" she asked gently. She pressed a hand to her chest. "Mine is Iliana Velikova."

She stood patiently, trying to imitate Absalom in the middle of the ring with his hands at his side, waiting. The boy tilted his head further away from her, the muscles in his shoulders twisting and jumping. He opened his mouth and closed it repeated, like he was trying to work out the answer to that himself.

When he finally did say something, he spoke so quietly that Iliana almost didn't hear it.

"Credence Barebone?" she repeated, eyes widening slightly at the last name. It certainly explained why someone who seemed as painfully timid as him was involved with such an aggressive hate group. If he was actually Mary Lou's child and not just a ward, though she could have given her charges her last name… Iliana was quick to gather herself, saying, "That's a nice name."

"I-I have… I have t-to…" Credence took a quick, nervous step away from her, glancing back fearfully at the woman leading the rally.

"Wait, please?" Iliana begged, stretching out a hand instinctively. He jumped badly, face twisting into a grimace, and Iliana bit her bottom lip, slowly drawing her hand back to her chest. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I only wanted to ask about your hands. Did the onion help?"

"M-My… Ah…" The way his face suddenly went from somewhat pale to completely ashen made Iliana's eyes drop to his hands fearfully. He tried to shift his bundle of papers so that she couldn't see them, but it was too late. Iliana knew what they had looked like that first day, they should have been slightly better today. Yet the scabs looked fresh, there were faint pink patches that looked almost like burns, and, most alarmingly, a faint ring of ugly purple and blue around his wrists.

"Oh my god," Iliana breathed, shaking hand coming up from her chest to press over her mouth. Underneath the lines of blood and the bruising she could see the scars of other beatings criss-crossing over each other, the variance in color and depth telling her that they spanned across years. "Who would do that to a person?"

Credence's cheeks were red, his eyes closed tight, his face angled towards the ground. He seemed to be trying to hide under the brim of his hat. "I disobeyed," he said quietly. "Ma has to…"

"No!" Iliana said sharply, and inwardly cursed herself for letting her emotions get the better of her. Credence responded to the sudden noise like she was the one coming at him to hurt him. Instead she splayed her hands on the edge of the railing, fully within his view even with his head bowed, and leaned forwards. "I know you don't know me, but you need to know this – I don't care what you've done. I don't care how often you've disobeyed your mother. You _do not_ deserve this kind of treatment. Nobody does."

For the first time, Credence looked up at her, mouth opened slightly. His eyes were darting to her eyes and away like he was fighting years of conditioning, but he was trying, and that gave Iliana hope that he might have a chance. If he still had even a _little bit_ of grit left to him then maybe he'd be able to do just what Abigail Schultz had done – go to the authorities, get away, build a new life.

"I-I…"

" _Begone, she-devil!"_

Mary Lou came flying over, managing despite her small size to shove Credence aside and into the stone pillar. Iliana saw several people looking over in disbelief as Mary Lou seized her arm and half-dragged her over the railing.

"Ma…" Credence moaned as he slid down the pillar, curling into a ball. "Please, no…"

"Coming here, spreading your poison about, filling my boy's ears with unnaturalness and temptation!" Mary Lou growled at her. Iliana pulled and thrashed, trying to get her arm free, her hip scraping painfully against the corner of the balustrade. At her side, Gus was going nuts, barking loudly and jumping, but he was unable to get over the solid barrier.

"Let me go!" Iliana shrieked. "Get off me!"

"The lips of a seductive woman are oh so sweet, her soft words are oh so smooth. But it won't be long before she's gravel in your mouth, a pain in your gut, a wound in your heart. She's dancing down the primrose path to Death; she's headed straight for Hell and taking you with her!" Mary Lou chanted. "You will not take from my flock! I command you to be gone, witch, by the power of God!"

A hand slammed down on Mary Lou Barebone's shoulder and a deep, dangerous voice intoned,

"Woman, you get your hands off my sister, or this will be the last day you have hands."

* * *

Credence stared up in shock. He'd seen people dressed like this woman on posters for the theaters, but he'd never seen a woman wearing such things. From her cowboy hat to the matching boots, the tops concealed under her brown slacks, she would have looked right at home on one of those posters with cacti and tumbleweeds. In New York, she looked alien and strange, other. She had blue eyes that absolutely screamed wrath about to be unleashed on his Ma and her red-brown hair was scraped back into a long braid that fell over her shoulder. Clenched in one hand was a gold-handled cane with a black shaft.

But the one thing Credence couldn't help but notice was that, tanned, tall, broad-shouldered, and brown-haired, this woman looked nothing like the smaller, paler, blonder Iliana. His Ma seemed to have noticed too, for she released her grip on Iliana to knock the woman's hand from her shoulder.

"Children born of sin!" she seethed. "Bastards! You cannot possibly come from the same mother!" The woman's eyes flashed in rage at this pronouncement. "The sins of the father are visited upon the sons and daughters. Your half-sister came here to seduce a weak, gullible child. She flaunted herself before him, using her wiles to grab his attention!"

"He was so rude!" Iliana interrupted, and Credence looked up at her in surprise. He cringed when he realized she was glaring at him. That was it, then, she hated him. "I tried to ask him for another one of those flyers, to ask him to meet me somewhere to discuss your message, but he wouldn't say anything! He wouldn't even look at me."

Credence's breath caught and he found himself locked in place in disbelief. She… was lying. For him. To try and protect him from his Ma's judgment. She was trying to help him again, even though it was all his fault that Mary Lou had come charging over and grabbed her, had upset her pet, had bruised her side.

"And if you knew my sister, ma'am, you'd know she doesn't go around looking for attention from men," the woman snapped. "Opposite, actually. So you'd better watch who you're accusing of what, because I don't take kindly to people spreading such nasty lies about my _sister._ "

"You will burn in hell," Mary Lou spat. "You and your sister will suffer the fires of the devil for your unholy actions, assaulting a child of god. You will be struck down!"

The woman moved, her grip on Mary Lou's shoulder shifting. She lunged forwards, her forearm stretching across his Ma's chest. Credence watched in a mix of awe and fear as Iliana's sister bent his mother nearly in half over the low balustrade wall.

"Annie, I think that was a threat. Did that sound like a threat to you?" she asked conversationally, despite the fact that she was holding a thrashing woman tight.

"It did," Iliana agreed.

He looked around as feet suddenly landed beside him. Iliana had hopped the railing and was crouching down in front of him, reaching out her hands carefully. Instead of taking his hands, she gently pressed her fingers to the back of his shoulder.

"Come on, on your feet," she said gently, and Credence hastened to comply, because he was pretty sure that his original theory was right. No one but an angel would be so unearthly kind even after she'd been assaulted just for being near him. He stood, hunching his shoulders and keeping his face low to hide from the many stares the scene had caused.

While her sister kept Mary Lou occupied, she leaned in close and whispered, breath brushing against his ear, "If you ever need to get away for a while, or just want to talk, look at the paper in your pocket. You'll be able to find me." He felt a faint tug at the pocket of his coat as she slipped the paper inside.

She stepped back quickly, gave him a hearty scowl for show, and moved to her sister's side.

"Elvira, come on, she's not worth you getting in trouble," she said, laying a hand on the woman's shoulder.

"In that case," she was growling in Mary Lou's face, "let me rephrase: if you ever lay hands on my sister again, they will never find your body." She released Mary Lou with a light shove, straightening up and sneering. Elvira waggled her fingers mockingly. "Perhaps I'll turn you into a toad, or simply make you vanish from existence… with a snap of my fingers!" She snapped her fingers, the leather fingerless gloves she wore making the sound seem oddly muffled. Nevertheless, the bystanders who had gathered to watch laughed as Mary Lou flinched, her normally neat bob ruffled from her struggles.

"I am garbed in the armor of Christ!" she said, straightening herself up and trying to appear self-righteous when the whole exchange had clearly rattled her. Credence didn't blame her. There had been times when Ma had been so furious at him that she beat him until he was sure he would die. He even wished for it. But this woman, Elvira, had looked so completely confident in her ability to carry through her threats, speaking like she was simply stating facts.

And, just as it had happened the last time, Credence suddenly found himself staring at Iliana's back as she moved away, Elvira to her right. Her dog trotted nicely at her side.

Credence had felt it under his skin, stronger than ever, when Ma had grabbed Iliana's arm. When she had shrieked her surprise and pain, when he had seen her bent sharply by Mary Lou's grasp, his vision had gone nearly black and he'd felt curiously absent in his own head, nothing but a bystander watching a maelstrom of anger and hate. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before, but he was so used to beating back that unnaturalness in himself that all it had taken was the jolt of hitting the ground and he'd been able to wrest back just enough of a foothold to brace himself against the tide and swallow it down.

Slowly, Credence's hand dipped to the pocket of his jacket where he felt the faintest crinkle of paper under his palm. He didn't know if he'd ever dare go to her even during his few free hours a week. Surely she had better things to do than waste time with him. But maybe just being able to catch a glimpse of her for a few seconds would be enough to remind him that someone actually cared.

* * *

Elvira took a deep breath as she sat at her desk, glasses perched on her nose and hair unbound. While nights at the Cactus Cat had long-since become predictable, they still usually held something interesting, be it a new client or a particularly good set from her sister or a duel. But tonight had seemed to drag on and on because of the very letter sitting and waiting on the desk in front of her. She'd received it right before opening, there hadn't been any time to open it even though she'd desperately wanted to.

She needed to know if Mr. Scamander thought she was too forward, asking for his picture, calling him by his first name. If he'd been a traveler who'd walked into her bar he'd have been 'Newt' within minutes, of that she was sure, and she'd have had a face to go with the words. But through letters things were different, communication was like molasses, and she wasn't quite sure where she stood with the man. He seemed open and friendly, but maybe it was that sort of 'business' friendliness some people had that she'd seen when she was in Europe.

Christ, she didn't even know where he was from. His spelling said not the US, but it could have been Canada just as easily as England!

Elvira picked up a letter opener and tucked the tip under the wax seal, popping it loose and lifting it. She was delighted to see the stark whiteness of a photograph paper staring back at her, tucked in front of her latest letter.

Forcing herself to temper her excitement, Elvira kept the picture face-down and laid it on the desk, turning to the letter first.

 _Elvira,_

 _I suppose you're right. If we're going to be involved in illegal dealings together, we might as well be on first name terms. It'll seem strange if, at our trial when these letters are presented as evidence, we're so formal with each other._

 _Your aunt Ingrid seems like she was indeed quite the character. You mentioned your family are known to be somewhat different but I wasn't sure if that was all just talk or if it was the truth. A woman who would approach an injured and territorial thunderbird – I don't know if even I would have the courage for that, and magical creatures are my life's work! You come from very interesting stock._

 _Your mention of her journal biting my fingers off intrigued me, and encouraged me to ask a somewhat rude question: are you a pureblood? Please understand, it makes no difference to me what your parentage is, but that particular spell reminded me of one that's common to the old pureblood families back home in England. It sparked me thinking – I suppose that with intermarriage between Muggles and wizards being illegal, there are likely more pureblooded American witches and wizards than English. It's an interesting thought, especially to an ex-Hufflepuff who used to be made fun of for being a blood traitor by the Slytherins._

 _But you wouldn't know! At Hogwarts we get Sorted into houses by the Sorting Hat. There's Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. The Gryffindors are brave, the Hufflepuff's loyal, the Ravenclaw's wise, and the Slytherin's cunning. Another, less pleasant trait common in Slytherins is a preoccupation with blood purity – it's where one finds a high concentration of the remaining pureblooded families in the United Kingdom._

 _I know unfortunately little about the American magical school system. I know that your school is called Ilvermorny and I know that it's somewhere in Massachusetts. Illuminate me, please?_

 _I'm afraid my multitudes of questions are going to have to wait a bit longer. I've arrived at my destination in West Africa and have confirmed my worst fears. I don't wish to tell you too much, I don't want to worry you, but it's a bit of a mess at the moment and I have no idea how long this is going to take to sort out. This is particularly bad because I also don't know how much time I have here._

 _What's strange is that I actually want to tell you, and I very well may. Perhaps it's because I've been travelling for so long, but reading your letters is as good as having someone sitting here talking to me. It sounds a bit pathetic, I know, but despite our short acquaintance – if one can even call letters the basis of an acquaintanceship – I feel as though you're a kindred spirit. I find myself inordinately glad that Professor Dumbledore directed me to you for advice._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Newt_

 _P.S. I'd love a copy of your aunt's journals, they could prove to be invaluable._

 _P.P.S I've enclosed a picture as requested. It's to be the author's picture for the back of my book once it's published. Please, don't think too badly of me. I know it's not a particularly flattering photograph but it's the only one I had on me._

Well, if that wasn't a perfect segue Elvira didn't know what was. She settled the letter on top of her desk to peruse again later as she drafted her reply so as not to leave anything out and turned to the picture. Feeling inordinately giddy, like she was unwrapping presents at Christmas, Elvira picked up the picture and flipped it open.

She let out a low breath. "Damn."

If this was what Newt called a bad picture, she'd love to see a good one. She wasn't quite sure how she'd imagined him – she hadn't really dared to try – but the picture seemed to fit perfectly. It was sepia so she couldn't make out what color his hair and eyes were, but they were light. He had a somewhat shy look in his eyes, his image shuffling a bit in the frame, reaching up and fidgeting with his collar. He dipped his head, floppy curls falling into his eyes. She could just make out a scattering of freckles across his face. He was, in a word, adorable, and very much Elvira's type. She found herself wondering just how far those freckles spread across him...

"Down girl, you've never even _met_ the man," she muttered. "Besides, you wouldn't know how to flirt with him if your life depended on it."

Despite the reputation bartenders had of being great flirts, Elvira fully acknowledged she was terrible at it. She had a tendency of taking her usual teasing too far or coming off as too stand-offish. With a half-veela for a sister, Elvira was most assuredly in second place in terms of looks at the bar on any given night at the very least. Her habit of trying to get acquainted by telling stories of her adventures with her father or sister had a bad track record of scaring men off rather than attracting them.

Pushing thoughts of flirting aside, Elvira smiled at finally having a face to put with the words she was reading. On the corner of her desk were a cluster small silver frames holding pictures of Absalom and Iliana, of her boys in Belgium, of the home where she'd grown up and herself behind the counter of the Cactus Cat the first night it had been open. Elvira propped Newt's picture between the two frames and the image shifted once more, answering her expression with a shy smile of his own. It only added to the endearing, boyish quality he had and Elvira had to shake herself free of the urge to spend a creepy amount of time watching the picture.

"Newt Scamander," Elvira muttered, shaking her head as she reached for a piece of parchment and her quill. "You're gonna give me fits when you do finally get here, I can already tell."

* * *

 _Newt,_

 _You weren't wrong about the amount of purebloods in the US. I suppose I hadn't really thought about how the anti-fraternization law affected bloodline demographics. Of course, intermarriage has happened – we'd have died out ages ago if it hadn't – but it's always been more common out West where there's been traditionally less interference by MACUSA. To answer your question yes, I am a pureblood and no, you haven't offended me by asking. My mother came from a fairly well-established magical family in Texas and you already know a bit of my paternal history._

 _Ilvermorny is more like Hogwarts that you might expect for one main reason – Isolt Sayre, the founder, always dreamed of going there before she came to the New World. She drew inspiration from stories she heard. In fact, Isolt herself was a descendent of one of your Founders. The Slytherin one, I can't recall his first name at the moment._

 _We have four houses much like you do, though there's no Sorting Hat. Instead, first years walk through the doors into the Sorting Chamber. We're called forward one at a time to stand on the Gordian Knot engraved in the floor and we wait for one of the four carved symbols to react. There's Horned Serpent, the house of the mind, Wampus, the house of the body, Pukwudgie, the house of the heart, and our old friend, Thunderbird, the house of the soul. After we're Sorted, we move on to retrieve our wands._

 _Occasionally, more than one will react and you're allowed to pick your house from the options that claimed you. Our current president, Seraphina Picquery, made a name for herself by being one of the very rare few for whom all four statues reacted. Admittedly I'm a bit smug about the fact that three of the four statues chose me. Ultimately, I chose Thunderbird, the house of adventurers, and it's a decision that I've never regretted. Though, if I'm being honest, I seriously considered Wampus at the time._

 _Truthfully, I've a bit cooking here that has been keeping me busy much like your Saharan problem. There's a group here in New York called the Second Salemers. They've been running around spreading anti-magic propaganda out of a church on Pike Street. They're close to a couple of magical families, one of whom raised concerns with me. My sister, Iliana, and I have been keeping an eye on them. The other day, their leader grabbed my sister. Supposedly, she was trying to seduce the woman's ward._

 _To be completely clear about the situation, I should explain: Iliana's surname is Velikova. She's my half-sister, but we've always been as close as full-blooded siblings. However, it was my father's affair with Iliana's mother that ultimately drove off my mother. I haven't seen her in almost ten years. But more to the point, Iliana's mother was a veela. As you can imagine my sister is breathtakingly beautiful and though she gets quite a lot of attention from men, it's not something she's ever been comfortable with and, in fact, actively avoids it most of the time._

 _I'm ashamed to say that I saw red when that woman grabbed my Annie and dragged her over a rail to scream in her face. As a general rule I leave No-Majs alone but this woman I really lit into – death threats, the whole nine. I wish Iliana hadn't seen that but I feel so protective of her after everything she's had to deal with and when people insult her I just… I can't describe it._

 _I'm terribly sorry Newt, it seems this letter has gone from informative babble to depressing family history. I'm normally a much better conversationalist, but I'm afraid I haven't really been holding up my end this time. Perhaps when I write you next I'll have something a bit more interesting to say._

 _Elvira_

 _P.S. Don't be sorry about your picture. I think you look quite handsome in it. Much better than me, sprawled out across the furniture like a horned serpent sunning itself._

Newt set the letter aside. Despite her apologies at the end, he was actually delighted by this letter. She was thorough in answering his questions even if everything she had said was very basic information to her. She managed to do it without sounding patronizing either, which was a feat that some couldn't seem to manage. He felt he had a much better picture of Ilvermorny, at least.

What made him even happier was that Elvira was apparently opening up enough to offer up personal details of her life. A half-veela sister and an affair that had shattered her parent's marriage… it wasn't exactly polite dinner conversation but it was the deeper feelings and emotions upon which real friendship was built and it buoyed him that she felt comfortable enough writing those things to him even though they'd never actually met.

It did help him paint a fuller picture of her. There were many moment in past letters where a stray turn of phrase or a word choice revealed a deep sadness, like when she'd spoken of never getting to Africa. As the image of Elvira came into focus he was able to pick out details – a biting wit and adventurous spirit around a caring and protective, if a bit melancholy, core. All in all, a truly fascinating experience with stories that could surely rival even his recent travels.

Still, the news she'd given him about this group, the Second Salemers… It worried him a little, to think that she and her sister were creeping around and watching such people. To want to help the magical community in her area was to be admired of course, but if Iliana was already being physically assaulted over it and Elvira driven to threats to protect her sister, then was it really safe? Salem and magic had a famously terrible history in her country, and the idea of Elvira with a rope around her neck hanging in some New York City back alley haunted him.

Not to say that he was much safer… Newt glanced towards the opening to his tent. Across the way was the tent containing the young girl who, he'd confirmed, held a Dark, parasitic force inside of her. It had taken hours upon hours of pleading through an interpreter for the rest of her community to give him a change to try and cure her. They'd been set to take her out of their village and stone her to death. He'd been evicted from the comfort of the village for trying to help, but it wasn't so bad. Her family had come with him, hoping that he'd be able to help her, and he was trying his best.

Newt found himself reaching for the picture of Elvira which had emerged from his study space within his suitcase. He watched as she absently fed her pet a bit of bark, one calf propped on her crooked knee, foot bobbing loosely as she read the paper.

"Elvira, would you have any idea what to do about something like this?" Newt found himself asking the picture helplessly. It was stupid to expect a helpful response.

Sure enough, all the Elvira on the paper did was glance up at him, nod her head in a bored greeting, and return to her paper.


	5. Chapter 5

"Niamh, good to see you again."

Niamh O'Reilly looked painfully uncomfortable being in the Cactus Cat during operating hours. She eyed the man who was slumped over the bar next to her, head in his arms, with a wrinkled nose. She pressed as close to the bar and Elvira and relative safety as she could manage.

"Well?" she asked, raising her voice slightly to be heard over Iliana's singing. "What have you found out?"

"The Second Salemers are still currying support," Elvira explained, glancing down the bar towards a hag who'd just yelled her order. She turned and grabbed the bottle, pouring liquors together and mixing them with thick, red liquid. Niamh stared in horror as the resulting concoction began to steam and bubble before it went flying down the bar. "They aren't making any moves from what we can tell. There's no signs that they've done anything against any real witches and wizards, though they're petitioning for support among some of the higher circles."

"But my kids…" Niamh added nervously.

"She's been approaching kids on the streets around her church in general," Elvira continued, waving her wrist and collecting a wave of dirty glasses from tables around the bar. They sailed up over the heads of the customers and over to her behind the bar. Her fingers wiggled and the glasses were sparkling clean as they slid into place on the racks under the bar. "Your children just happened to be magical. Her plan has been to try and get kids handing out her flyers in exchange for a solid meal."

"Then… it was random?" Niamh asked. "She didn't mean them any harm?"

"That's what she said, isn't it?"

Niamh gave a small yelp as the man to her right suddenly sat up, resting his chin in the heel of his palm morosely. Elvira rolled her eyes and poured a shot of firewhiskey, setting it in front of him.

"Alfie, I'm sorry about your nice young lady, but you were only seeing her for two weeks."

"She was the one, Ellie!" Alfred wailed, grabbing the shot and tossing it back. "She was perfect!"

"She was screwing your neighbor," Elvira reminded him, turning to Niamh's startled face and mouthing 'sorry.' "She wasn't as perfect as you thought she was. Point is, Niamh, that your kids are safe. Just tell them to steer clear of the Second Salemers and there shouldn't be a problem."

"Are you sure?" Niamh pressed, laying her hands on the bar. "I mean… can't you watch them some more?"

"You've already taken up quite a bit of our time," Elvira reminded her. "We'll check up on them, make sure they haven't gotten any real power behind their cause, but I'm not going to keep stalking them like I have been."

"Leave Elvira be, lady," Alfred muttered irritably, swirling his glass around with the tip of his finger. "She's got plenty of duties to her community to fulfill right here. 'nother shot please."

Elvira poured obligingly as Niamh drew herself up and huffed.

"This is a private conversation, sir!"

"Then don't have it a foot away from me at a public bar, m'kay?" Alfred countered, tossing back his second shot.

"Alfie!" Elvira rebuked as Niamh turned on her heel and stormed for the door like she couldn't get out of the Cactus Cat fast enough.

"What? She's a mouthy one." Alfred tapped the bar. "Hit me again."

"My hero," Elvira replied, rolling her eyes and pouring him a third shot.

* * *

 _Elvira,_

 _I had no idea that Ilvermorny was so connected to Hogwarts! It was Salazar Slytherin, that was his name. As far as I was aware his line had died out in Britain several decades ago. It's fascinating to think that there may be some wizards roaming around America who share a lineage with one of the Hogwarts Founders! Some of the Slytherins I grew up with would likely be appalled to learn that, however. It's strange, you'd think it's something that would be well-known given that every magical child in the United Kingdom attends Hogwarts, but I can't recall the last time I heard someone claim kinship to one of the Founders._

 _We do things a bit differently at Hogwarts. The Sorting Hat is placed on your head and it searches your mind and memories. Originally it belonged to Godric Gryffindor, you see, and he gave it a certain degree of sentience to do the divvying up after he and the other Founders passed on. A bit more invasive than a statue, I'll admit! Once the Hat makes its final decision, it yells it out to the Great Hall and the new student joins their house table, and that's how I became a Hufflepuff. Although, strangely enough, the Hat considered putting me in Gryffindor for a moment._

 _I've never told anyone that._

 _Thunderbird, isn't that a coincidence! They seem to have defined our whole relationship, haven't they? Adventurous, that seems fitting, though I'm not surprised you considered Wampus if it is as you say. Both seem like they could easily fit. Somehow it makes sense that you made an impression when you started Ilvermorny. Forgive me if I've gotten the wrong idea of you from our letters, but you seem to make an impression wherever you go._

 _Thank you for telling me about your family. I understand it must be difficult to talk about for you, but it makes me happy to know that you trust me enough to tell me. Is that terrible of me?_

 _At the risk of prying into things that aren't my business, have you ever contacted your mother? I find it hard to imagine what my life would have been without mine. My brother, Theseus, and I gave my mother fits. We never got along well. He likes following the rules and taking charge too much for us to have done well as siblings. Don't mistake me, I love him the way you love your sister – I can't imagine what I'd do if I saw someone assaulting my brother, though he'd likely sort it before I could even think to get involved – but as children we were simply too different to get along most of the time._

 _Theseus always complained that I was tied to mother's apron strings, and perhaps he was right. She bred hippogriffs, and it was she who started my interest in magizoology. She used to let me come with her to feed her flock and she'd let me watch while she treated any diseases or fixed any wounds. Father thought I was too young for such things but mother used to say, 'you're never too young to learn to help out another living creature.' She was hardly shocked when she started getting letters home from Hogwarts complaining of my trying to smuggle creatures I'd found on the grounds into the castle._

 _Please, never feel bad about anything you've written me. You could send a treatise on troll toe jam and I suspect I'd find it fascinating. You have such a strong personality in your writing that I swear I can hear your voice in my head when I'm reading. It's silly since I've never heard you speak, obviously, but there you are. Perhaps it's the lack of conversation in English that's beginning to get to me._

 _Newt_

Elvira was blushing a bit as she set the most recent letter aside on her desk. Send him a treatise on troll toe jam and he'd still read it to hear her voice in his head? It may not have been the most romantic line ever and it almost certainly hadn't been intended in that way, but it still made her heart rate pick up a bit to think that Newt enjoyed her words so much.

More than once she'd gotten dirty looks going off on tangents, though she'd managed to temper that over the years. Iliana had the same habit, though she hadn't quite learned to control it the way her sister had. It came from Absalom, he'd been the same way. He hadn't even tried to smother it though, cheerfully going on for hours about whatever topic had gripped his fancy.

One thing that was certain though, Elvira was glad she hadn't gone to Hogwarts. A sentient hat going through her brain! That sounded horribly invasive and incredibly mad. The wizarding world tended to be a bit ridiculous in general but that really took the cake.

But, if he was so interested in Ilvermorny and its ties to Hogwarts… Elvira rose and ventured to her bookshelf, one finger tucked between her teeth as she scanned the rows.

"Looking for something?"

Elvira glanced towards the door, where Iliana was lingering, still clad in her fascinator and little maroon flapper dress from the night's show. "You haven't changed."

Iliana ignored the comment as she walked into the study. She glanced at the top of the desk, saw the letter, and took a guess as to who it was from.

"Another letter from Mr. Scamander?"

"He was interested in the history of Ilvermorny. It's a lot different from Hogwarts apparently. Newt and I have been trading stories about Sorting ceremonies."

Iliana's eyes slanted towards her sharply. "It's Newt, now, is it?" she commented, and was surprised when Elvira said nothing, merely ducked her head and kept scanning the shelves. "Ellie…" Iliana said leadingly, drifting towards her sister's desk.

"Not for you," Elvira warned as Iliana perched on the edge. Iliana rolled her eyes, reaching down to unbuckle the ankle straps of her heels with one hand while the other picked up the picture of Newt resting amongst the collection of silver-framed pictures. Elvira glanced at the small cluster and made a mental note to get a picture frame for her latest addition soon.

"This is him?" Iliana asked, examining the picture while she worked the buckle of her other shoe free.

"Mmm."

"He's your type."

"We've never met."

"You write him enough you'd think you've been friends since childhood."

Elvira made a sound of triumph and reached up, pulling down a pair of books with quick tugs. Piling them on top of each other, she returned to her desk and set them on top of Newt's most recent letter.

"It feels that way," Elvira admitted, brushing a stray bit of hair behind her ears. She reached down and picked up her glasses, sliding them onto the end of her nose and peering down. She began to flick through the first volume, one of her great aunt Ingrid's journals, searching for the bits about thunderbirds that she'd promised him. "Have you ever met someone like that? You might not have known them a long time, but it feels like you have?"

Iliana shook her head. "I'm not as sociable as you are," she commented with a wry, self-depreciating smile. "Most of my evenings are spent singing at the bar and most of my days are spent here on my own hobbies and research."

Elvira smirked teasingly, glancing up from the book. "We need to find you a man."

"Oh, is that what you've done then?" Iliana countered smoothly, and Elvira's smirk dropped into a scowl.

"Touche… ah!" She lifted her cane from where it was hooked on the back of her desk chair and twirled it. The wood melted away, revealing her wand. Pointing the tip at the pertinent pages Elvira made a copy and set it aside. A quick spin of her wand and it was once more concealed inside of her cane.

"In all seriousness, do you like him?" Iliana asked curiously.

Elvira shook her head helplessly. "I've never met him. Even if I did have some kind of feelings towards the man, it's only for words on a page, not a real person. I've met many a person who is vastly different in their letters than they are in real life." She shut her aunt Ingrid's journal with aa snap. "Safer not to get emotionally involved until I've actually met him. It would be a shame to be let down just because I built my expectations too high."

"Right," Iliana said softly, and something in her tone made Elvira look up and narrow her eyes suspiciously.

"Annie," she said lowly. "What'd you do?"

Her sister replied with a buoyant smile. "Nothing, what do you mean?"

"Annie…"

"It's getting late, it's time for me to get changed and get to bed I think," Iliana chirped, hopping off the edge of the desk. She hooked the heels of her shoes on two fingers and trotted for the door. "Goodnight, Elvira!"

"Uh huh," her sister replied drily. "Night, Iliana."

* * *

 _Newt,_

 _Somehow, this letter turned into a bit of a care package. Enclosed you'll find the relevant sections of my aunt Ingrid's journals as promised. I threw in my copy of The Story of Ilvermorny from when I was in school. It's considered the best for background on the school. All first years are required to read it as it covers everything from the founding to the proper way to wear your uniform. You needn't worry about returning it, I could go to any second-hand shop and find about eight copies. It's a dime a dozen here._

 _Also enclosed you'll find a bit of Cactus Cat Juice. It's my place's signature drink and namesake. A while back you asked about why the little burrs tear up cacti – that's why. They leave the juice to ferment all day then come back and drink it at night. It's illegal here because getting it requires dealing with the cats themselves which is, as you know, also illegal. More than one bootlegger has lost an eye going after a cactus cat's stash. It's damn strong, so watch yourself, but my particular stock is better than most anything else you'll find. Seems you could use a drink anyway, give how your Africa lead is apparently panning out._

 _The last thing I sent will explain itself, so I won't bother here._

 _I can't imagine sitting on a stool and letting an animated hat go through my brain. It sounds a bit silly since I'm assuming it's not as if the Hat runs around Hogwarts spreading gossip, but I don't like the idea of someone or something knowing some of the things I have floating around in my head. For one, then they'd know about you and I and our fabulously illegal endeavors._

 _How is Frank doing? I'm assuming well, or you'd have mentioned he's taken a turn for the worse. I spent quite a bit of yesterday dealing with a goofus bird that some idiot bought as a pet for their child. What people don't realize is that goofus birds are used to ranging far and wide. You can't keep them in a tenement, and you can't turn them loose once you've gotten them. Being black, silver, pink, and green, they stick out a bit among the local pigeons. This poor thing is stunted from being kept in a cage and I'm having to hand feed it._

 _Ah, I suppose we can add that to the list of illegal activities I've admitted to participating in. Rebecca Nurse help me if I ever make you mad, Newt. You've enough to sentence me to life at this point._

 _I don't quite know why, but I had you pegged as an only child. Your mother sounds like my kind of woman. I've always been curious about hippogriffs. We don't see them here and obviously you can't import them. I do know a fellow in France who breeds them though. Jean Henri Buthod? I don't know if you'd be familiar. We met during the war and still exchange letters. A good man, if a bit of a flirt. Every time we speak he asks me to marry him._

 _I was lucky in that Iliana and I are very similar. She likes her books and theories best, but she's always been happy to go off adventuring with me. We ranged all over the west either following our own leads or running things down for Absalom. It was a very unconventional childhood, but we did have an absolute blast doing it and by the time we would have graduated from Ilvermorny both of us had more real-world experience than most people twice our age._

 _When you do finally get to New York, you'll have to meet her. She keeps asking questions about you. I suppose I could let her read our letters but for some reason I can't quite make myself do that. It feels a bit too personal. Of course, it's not as if she doesn't know what I get up to, but still. You're my friend and I'm not quite ready to share you yet._

 _Best of luck in Africa_

 _Elvira_

Newt didn't know whether she knew it, but Elvira had revealed two fairly important things about herself in this letter. The first wasn't quite a confirmation, but it was enough to make him wonder. She had said _would have_ graduated. It might have been a turn of phrase, but that seemed to imply that she hadn't graduated. That begged the question of why. Had she dropped out? Had she, dare he think it, been expelled as well? Interestingly, the same word choice applied to her sister. It would be strange enough to have one young witch in a family not graduate but two was almost unheard of.

The second was that she was in the war. Newt had been involved in it as well, dealing with dragons. However, in theory magical Americans shouldn't have been anywhere near the fighting. He vaguely remembered something from History of Magic class about a famous speech by a president 'Country or Kind?' It was a debate about whether or not magical Americans should get involved in their revolution and the answer had been no. That answer held to this day. That Elvira was anywhere near the fighting proved she'd been somewhere she wasn't supposed to be.

The name Jean Henri Buthod rang a bell though. He vaguely remembered his mother speaking of a Marie Therese Buthod, a Frenchwoman who also bred hippogriffs. She'd said that Marie Therese had a son about Newt's age, and that would match up. Newt made a mental note to confirm with his mother that it was the correct family, and then he might write a letter to Jean Henri. He wanted to know more about Elvira and her involvement in Europe but asking her felt like prying. Asking _him_ felt like going behind her back though.

Newt sorted through his spoils, smiling brightly and feeling a bit like Christmas had come early. The bottle was shrunken and spelled to survive travel by owl, but with a flick of his wand it was a full-sized wine bottle once more. There was a handwritten label stuck to it, and the penmanship matched Elvira. _Spike, May 1923._ He had no idea what that meant, but it was far more than he'd expected.

Curious, Newt popped the cork with his teeth and lifted the bottle to his nose. There was a sharp scent of alcohol and he spluttered a bit as the inside of his nose burned. Elvira hadn't been kidding, the stuff smelled stronger than firewhiskey!

Nevertheless, Newt raised it to his lips and took a small sip, pulling back with a noise of surprise as the sugary flavor spread over his tongue. Other than being incredibly sweet, there wasn't really any taste to it. It was almost like sugar water, but it had a kick like a mule to it. Newt suspected it was usually drunk either as a shot or a mixer. It was fairly smooth and went down easily before a pleasant warmth spread through his stomach.

"I quite like that," Newt murmured to himself, corking the bottle once more and setting it aside to go through the rest of his spoils.

Aunt Ingrid had beautiful handwriting, Newt noted, glad he wouldn't have to pour over it for hours trying to translate chicken scratch. He skimmed a bit, finding everything from drawings of her thunderbirds to potions for healing and advice on feeding. There were more personal tidbits dropped in, comments about the weather and her family, but those Newt mostly skimmed over, feeling as if he were invading her privacy despite the fact that she'd likely been dead for quite a while.

Those would make good reading tomorrow in between bouts of sitting with the Sudanese girl, but for now he craved something a bit lighter. He picked up the copy of _The Story of Ilvermorny._ It was slightly battered around the corners, but otherwise was in good shape. Newt opened the front cover and smiled at the sight of Elvira's name written in a clumsy, more childish hand. He flipped through, scanning chapter titles and the few images included, looking for anything that caught his interest.

Two bits of paper fell out. Newt hastened to grab them before they fell to the floor, fumbling a bit. The first one was covered in random scrawls in two different sets of handwriting. One was Elvira's, the other unfamiliar. It was an old paper she'd used passing notes when she was in school.

 _Abercrombie was ready to kill you for that trick with the fireplace! How'd you get off?_

 _Played innocent. No one saw me, even though they try to pin everything on me. No proof at all, I made sure of it._

 _._

 _Have you heard about Mildred and the seventh year Puck?_

 _No?_

 _Yes. Catherine Tamblin caught them out by the snakewood tree._

 _Mercy Lewis, we're not even supposed to be out there!_

 _._

 _Have you finished the Native Magic assignment?_

 _I did it last night. Why?_

 _Help? Please!_

Newt found himself smiling as he read the exchanges back and forth, getting a glimpse into Elvira when she was younger and apparently just as bold and confident as she was now. He remembered passing notes back at Hogwarts, though admittedly it had only ever been to Leta. He hadn't had many friends.

Nor, it seemed, had Elvira, based on the second piece of paper. It was a crude ink drawing of a witch with long hair and crossed eye sticking out her tongue. The image was animated, bats fluttering around the witch's head. Written across the paper multiple times in bold block letters around the drawing was _Batty Blodgarmr! Batty Blodgarmr!_

Newt scowled at the paper and set it aside with extreme prejudice, the mocking chant of _Newt Scamander kissed a salamander!_ ringing in his ears as he did so. Children could be cruel to people and things they didn't understand. It was a lesson he'd learned better than most and it seemed Elvira had learned the same thing. It made sense though, with everything she'd told him of her family's reputation. She had showed up to Ilvermorny with a reputation as a kook and doubtless her peers had latched on to that and attacked with it.

Newt turned finally to the last part of what Elvira had called his care package. This one he had questions about – the luridly red envelope was unmistakable. For whatever reason, Elvira had seen fit to send him a Howler. Considering his only experience with the things had been when his father sent them to him for getting caught smuggling this creature or that into the castle, Newt was understandably wary as he picked it up and slit the wax seal with his wand.

The paper began to shake and rattle. The envelope picked itself up, crinkling and tearing until it and the envelope resembled a woman's mouth. Newt cringed slightly, bracing himself, and leaned back.

 _"If you're going to imagine my voice when you read my letters, you oughtta know what it sounds like, don't you think, English?"_

Newt sat forwards in his chair, face splitting into a wide grin. The envelope burst into flames, leaving a pile of ask on his desk, but that didn't matter. Newt was fully aware the tips of his ears were red, but he couldn't believe it. It was a brilliant idea on her part and he was glad he'd mentioned to her that he tried to imagine what she sounded like. The reality was even better than he'd imagined, and he was so glad he had reality to think about now.

Elvira's voice was lower than he'd imagined, and on that single sentence her voice had been shaking with laughter. It did nothing to suppress the molasses drawl of her words or the way some of them slurred together, letters being dropped. She sounded exactly like he'd always imagined a Texan accent, with all the attitude he'd have predicted of a New Yorker. It matched up exactly with the way she wrote her letters. It was perfect.

Newt glanced at Elvira's picture. It was now safe in a little frame he'd bought at a bazaar. It was cheap and made of sandstone, plain and unembellished, but it kept the picture safe and smooth and as he watched, Elvira fluffed her paper and rolled her neck. She glanced up at him, tilted her head in acknowledgement, and winked.


	6. Chapter 6

Iliana might have been taken off Second Salem-watching by Elvira and Niamh might have been satisfied, but that didn't mean that Iliana herself was. Credence weighed on her mind with his scarred hands, the memory of Mary Lou Barebone dragging her over the rail to scream in her face a terrible reminder of what he must have had to deal with for most of his life. She couldn't imagine a world where the only family she knew treated her that way.

Iliana was dressed in a flowing dusty rose dress with a draped shoulder, hat pinned into her hair and a cardigan thrown over her shoulder. She was without Gus today to better blend in with the crowd. The cloche shadowed her face and made it easier for her to hide in the back of the small crowd. She moved round the fringes of those who had stopped to listen to Mary Lou's vitriol, listening as they mocked her behind their hands.

She could see Credence standing on the grass of Central Park not far from his mother, shaded by a large tree. People gave him a wide berth and Iliana winched as she watched him hesitantly extend flyers in the direction of the path as people barreled past, unwilling to look at him if they even noticed he was there. His eyes remained glued to the ground and she wondered what he would look like if he stood tall. He might even be a full six feet in height, taller than she by a good bit.

"Oh!" Iliana made a small sound of surprise as she saw two children harrying the youngest of Mary Lou's wards. Modesty, that was her name, and she was wrinkling the flyers in her hands clutching them so hard as two freckle-faced boys ran around her and tugged at her braids.

"Boys!" Iliana hissed, casting a nervous glance back at the crowd. She didn't want to risk drawing eyes to her, especially after Mary Lou had already taken after her once. But the poor little girl looked close to tears and she couldn't just leave her there to be teased.

The two boys whipped around and cringed when they saw her striding towards them. At the sight of an adult coming up to them, and one as well-dressed as Iliana was, they turned and fled down the path, presumably back towards their mothers. Staring after them with a huff, Iliana crouched down before the young girl.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" she asked gently. Modesty sniffled and nodded, her grip on her flyers slowly loosening. "What were they saying to you?"

Modesty raised a hand to rub at her eyes and Iliana resisted the urge to wince at the sight of how thin her wrist was. "Th-They said that… I was a freak, and… and… and I was ugly and stupid!"

"Well, that's ridiculous!" Iliana exclaimed. "You're a lovely little girl!"

Modesty sniffled again, but a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She quickly smothered it and shook her head fiercely. "Mama says it's vain to think you're pretty!"

Iliana tilted her head. "Well, maybe," she admitted, "if that's all you think about. But here's the thing. People are hardwired to like certain things. Symmetry is one – when things are the same on both… sides…" She tapped each of Modesty's cheeks with a finger, then her nose. Modesty giggled, raising a hand to her nose. "And you're very symmetrical!"

"Thank you, Miss," Modesty said shyly.

"I'm certain you're not stupid, and you don't look like a freak to me," Iliana assured her. "Trust me, I've met a few," she added conspiratorially, and Modesty giggled again. "You look just like a little doll!"

Modesty's rising mood faltered a little bit, casting a wary glance at Mary Lou, who hadn't noticed them. She was too enraptured by the sound of her own voice, Iliana thought derisively. "Mama says dolls are bad. They make children soft. If I ask for one, I'm being greedy."

"Now that's just not true," Iliana insisted, resisting the urge to walk over the throttle the No-Maj woman right there in front of everyone. Modesty was young and obviously still not quite under her mother's thumb, not nearly to the point Credence was. But already Mary Lou was making her mark and forcing the young girl to question every move she made for fear of doing something wrong. "Every girl should have a doll. Do you know why?" she asked, pulling most of this out of thin air as she spoke, the sort of fanciful things people told children but she'd never had occasion to try and think up before.

Modesty shook her head.

"A doll is a friend," Iliana explained. "Someone you can tell your secrets and your troubles to. They may not be able to help, but sometimes just talking through things can help you feel better about them. You feel less crazy if you have someone to talk to instead of yourself," Iliana added, crossing her eyes for effect, and Modesty gave a small, squealing laugh before covering her face with her flyers.

Iliana opened her purse and thrust her hand inside. It only took a whisper and a flick of her wand inside the depths.

"Modesty, I want you to have something," she said, and pulled out a small rag doll. She had yellow yarn hair and blue button eyes, just like the little girl. She wore a cornflower blue dress and a little white apron. Modesty's eyes went wide as saucers as she stared at the doll. "I think this little doll would love to be your friend."

Modesty raised a hand like she desperately wanted to take the doll, but there was another hesitant look over her shoulder towards her mother. Then something in the little girl's jaw hardened and she reached out, snatching the doll and tucking her protectively against her chest.

"You may have to hide her from your mother," Iliana warned, "but she's very good at listening."

"She's pretty," Modesty murmured, sounding awed. "I'm gonna call her Lissy. That was my Mommy's name. My _real_ mommy," she added a little bitterly.

"That's a perfect name," Iliana agreed. She reached into her bag once more and with a flick of her wrist produced two wrapped peppermints. "And here's a treat for you and Lissy. I think you both will be wonderful friends."

Modesty reached up, plucking the candies from Iliana's outstretched palm. "I know who you are," she said matter-of-factly, and Iliana raised her eyebrows.

"What?" she asked, bemused. "What do you mean?"

"You're Credence's girl," Modesty announced, and Iliana flushed, looking in the direction of the dour figure under the tree. Credence was looking up and watching them, an enraptured expression on his face. Iliana flushed. The minute he saw her looking, he did the same, averting his eyes and shifting nervously.

"Now, Modesty." Iliana laughed nervously. "Credence and I… your brother and I aren't…"

"It's okay, miss," Modesty was quick to assure her, beaming. "I won't tell Ma like Chastity did. I like you. Credence does too. I think you're good enough for him."

Iliana blinked, smiling uncertainly, not at all sure how to take that. It was obvious that Chastity had seen her with Credence and drawn her own assumptions, Modesty picking up on them. The girl had interpreted it as something romantic between herself and Credence when the reality was that they barely knew each other. In fact, Iliana was confident that he seemed so touch-starved she'd feel like she was taking advantage of him and his fragile state if she so much as held his hand.

It was obvious though that Modesty idolized her older brother and knowing that she had the younger girl's approval if that was the situation was… oddly moving.

"Thank you Modesty," Iliana replied. "I have to go, but hopefully I'll see you and Lissy again sometime."

"That'd be nice," Modesty said dreamily as Iliana straightened. She jerked in surprise as Modesty wrapped her arms around her waist and squeezed tightly before releasing her and running off to join Credence under the tree. He looked up at her again for just a second before turning his focus to Modesty.

Feeling both conflicted and touched, Iliana turned on her heel and hurried from the park.

* * *

Credence watched the entire time from under the brim of his hat as Iliana spoke to Modesty. His heartrate had picked up to a heady pound when he'd seen her, and watching her crouch down and speak with Modesty with a smile on her face, something faintly protective in her posture, had sent his mind spinning down the road to his favorite fantasy of domestic bliss once more.

Soon enough though, she was saying her goodbyes and Modesty was running to him, clutching whatever Iliana had passed her tightly to her chest and obviously trying to hide it. Modesty hadn't yet learned how to really be sneaky. She would though. Living with Ma did that.

"Credence!" Modesty called, and Credence turned to face her. "I met your girl!" she whispered, bounding up on her toes, eyes brighter than Credence had seen in weeks.

Credence's own eyes widened and he felt his ears burning red at the assumption that Iliana was in any way his. He might have hoped and dreamed of that but the reality was that a girl like her probably had suitors up to her ears, suitors much better than him. Suitors who didn't have a patchwork of lines across their back. Suitors whose hands didn't shake at every unexpected noise.

"Sh-She's not…"

"Oh, I know it's a secret," Modesty assured him, stepping even closer. "But _look!"_ She unfolded her hands, revealing a small ragdoll sitting in her palms. The doll was only the size of his palm and made of cloth with a simple dress and apron. The way Modesty held it though it might have been one of those expensive bisque ones with the painted faces and the satin dresses that had tea parties in the windows of toy shops.

"She just _gave_ her to me!" Modesty said delightedly. "I'm going to call her Lissy!"

Credence had always vastly preferred his little sister to Chastity, and his heart warmed to see her so happy. Such an emotion was rare and to be cherished living with Mary Lou. Any time he could shield her from the harsh reality of that he tried to, but there was only so much he could do to keep her away from the worst of it. Seeing her so happy to have a toy, the only one she owned, Credence felt the urge to get down on his knees and thank Iliana for her kindness, for giving that to the little girl.

"But…" Modesty suddenly looked terrified. "How am I gonna get her home? If Ma sees Lissy, she'll take her away!" She clutched the doll tightly to her chest. It was plain to see that despite having the doll for all of ten minutes Modesty was already desperately attached.

Credence thought fast, whipping off his hat and offering it to his sister. "I'll hide her in my hat," he explained. "I'll give her back when it's safe."

Modesty lit up. "Thank you, Credence!" She gave the doll one last cuddle before carefully dropping her into Credence's hat. He replaced it on his head fingers fluttering around the edge to make sure no stray bit of fabric or yarn was poking out. He was certain there wasn't, but already he could feel stress and paranoia tightening his neck and shoulders, terrified that Ma would somehow _know._

"She also gave me these," Modesty confided, holding out her palm where two small peppermints rested. "She said to share them with Lissy, but I know she's only a doll. I want you to have it."

"Th-Thank you, Modesty."

Credence reached out, hand trembling, and took the small peppermint from his sister's hand. He tucked it into his pocket, feeling something tighten in the back of his throat. Modesty looked up, giving him a secretive smile as she stored hers inside the neck of her dress. "It'll be our little secret."

* * *

 _Elvira,_

 _I don't know how to say this, so I will just come out and say it: Frank isn't the only illegal thing I've become involved in on this trip. I've made many mentions of my business in Africa but I've never given details, and for good reason. What I'm about to tell you is far more than a smuggled thunderbird or a question about American wizarding life. The only reason I'm risking getting you involved is that despite our short and somewhat odd acquaintanceship, I trust you._

 _That, and I can't think of anything else to do._

 _I came to this part of Africa following reports of a young witch with a strange lack of control over her powers. I had nothing but a theory based on the reports I'd heard, but I hoped that I could help. It was only after arriving in her village and seeing the state her victims were in that my theories were confirmed. The girl is an Obscurial._

 _I've no idea if you have any knowledge of Obscurials or how you feel about them, but I'm at my whit's end. The poor girl can't even move or speak. The only times she shows any signs of life are when her Obscurus takes hold and uses her body for it's own will. I'm not even sure if she'll survive long enough to get a letter back from you, but combined with some remedies her family knows, she's already held on longer than most expected. All I can do is hold out hope._

 _My plan was to try and find a way to separate her from her Obscurus. I hope that in doing that, she might be able to live a normal life. However, as you know the Obscurus is a parasite that makes its host very dangerous, meaning most Obscurials end up dead fairly quickly. As far as my research has shown, no one has ever attempted such a thing. I don't even know if it's possible, but as I've said, I have to hope._

 _Please, Elvira. Anything you know, anything that might help me save this young girl. I'm desperate._

 _Newt_

 _P.S. This is probably the first time this sentence has ever been conceived, but thank you for your Howler. It meant a lot._

Elvira's hands were shaking as she held Newt's latest letter. She'd received it expecting something about the house system at Ilvermorny, a review of Cactus Cat Juice, maybe some witty comment about her aunt Ingrid's journal, but this?

Elvira sat back as the memories came flooding back. She remembered, mind flashing to bodies, grey and lifeless, covered in a cracking pattern no one could explain. Fences ripped out, a barn torn to shreds, pieces of a windmill impaled so deeply and forcefully into the ground that they'd sliced a cow in half, the smell of intestines rotting in the sun filling the air. Her father's friends, Rivera and Ellis, screaming as the wind whipped…

And then the No-Majs showed up with words like 'mysterious disease' and 'freak tornado' and 'act of God' and she'd stood there, limp against the fence, heart broken yet somehow still beating, wondering just how in the hell a person could be so determined to see the normal in the impossible. How could anyone look around at the carnage around them and think that this was an act of God? This was something dark, she could still feel it lingering in the air, sliding against her skin, prickling the back of her neck, and…

Elvira gasped as he breath began to come fast and sharp. She doubled over, putting her head between her knees and forced her lungs to cooperate, slowing to a more reasonable speed. It took several minutes for the shaking in her hands to subside, for her stomach to settle to the point where she felt like she wasn't going to throw up. The smell of cow intestines in the sun still filled her nose…

Elvira sat up in her chair and pulled a piece of parchment towards herself. If Newt was involved with an Obscurial than anything she knew might help. Luckily for him, unluckily for her, that day was still perfectly ingrained in her mind. No detail would ever escape her, not as long as she lived.

* * *

 _Newt,_

 _If you check the records then there hasn't been a sighting of an Obscurial in the United States in over a hundred years. I'm here to tell you that's bullshit because I saw one myself several years ago, in some tiny little religious town in Utah. For a long time it was the most terrifying thing I'd ever seen and I'm ashamed to say that, for the sake of my life and the lives of the men who came out investigating with me, we attacked the boy and he ended up dying despite our best efforts._

 _His name was Thomas Crane and I can still hear him screaming as one of Ellis's spells hit him. I didn't mean to Newt, I swear to Mercy Lewis I didn't, but all I can think is that the Obscurus had already drained poor Thomas past the point of no return. He had Ellis, he was killing him, and Ellis's wife had just had twin girls, they couldn't be without a father… My spell wasn't nice, it hit straight in the middle of it and… and I don't know. The Obscurus stopped and shuddered, like it was in pain, and then it just exploded and poor Thomas dropped out of the middle of it._

 _He was dead._

 _Thomas's parents were deeply religious, they kept him locked up and tried to beat the magic out of him. The only reason Ellis and Rivera and I went out there was because of reports of strange things happening in the area. We wanted to make sure it wasn't some rogue wizard or magical creature. It was too minor for the Aurors to care about, seeing as there wasn't a wizarding community close enough to be at risk. We decided to take it upon ourselves to try and find out what was going on._

 _We had no idea what we were walking into. The Obscurial shocked us. We arrived in time to find it killing Thomas's parents. We weren't sure what it was at first, that's why we attacked straight off, but then it started darting around, expanding, tearing things apart, and Rivera realized. He's been around for a long time, he'd seen one down in Mexico. He knew what we were dealing with and stayed well back. Ellis had no idea, he tried to get in close and that's how the Obscurus got a hold of him._

 _The No-Maj authorities showed up. They took our word about being travelers looking for a place to spend the night when we found the Crane farm, but they kept insisting it was a freak tornado. Of course, we couldn't tell them what it was. They just wrote it down as a random tragedy and moved on with their lives. There was a blade from a windmill driven through a cow, Newt!_

 _And then, because we'd used magic in a No-Maj area the Aurors showed up and no matter what we told them they wouldn't hear anything about an Obscurial. "There hasn't been one sighted in the United States in over a hundred years." They just kept saying that over and over, like it meant that there couldn't possibly be one ever again, like it was some kind of animal that had gone extinct. They took one look at us – A Blödgarmr, a Mexican, and Ellis, a disgraced Auror – and wrote us off as troublemakers. I've never had much use for Aurors, and now I've valid reason to dislike them after what was done to me, but I'd never disliked any of them personally until that day._

 _It was only afterward that I was able try and understand what we'd come up against. Reading is, unfortunately, not all that useful as most people who encounter an Obscurial are bent on extermination. Most of what I'd found was more focused on how to kill them then how to remove or destroy them without harming the host. In the end, the best information that I can think of that might help you, I got from Rivera._

 _The Obscurial he found in Mexico was killed, unfortunately. But the girl was a favorite of local witch named Maria Ramirez. Most people didn't want anything to do with Señora Ramirez but the Obscurial was always kind to her – much to the horror of her parents. To that end, Señora Ramirez kidnapped her and tried to cure her. She was a clever woman, apparently, because she'd nearly managed it before the girl's parents found her. The girl became enraged and couldn't be calmed. Ultimately, Señora Ramirez was killed along with the girl's parents and she rampaged through two cities before the local Aurors put her down._

 _Rivera had copies of Señora Ramirez's notes on how to potentially cure and Obscurial and he made me copies. He saw how upset I was by Thomas and how much I blamed myself for his death. He thought it might help me to have the basis of a backup plan if I ever found one again._

 _Keep in mind, Señora Ramirez never finished her work. What I'm passing on to you is incomplete research, but based on my own I can tell you it's the best advice you're going to find. Everything else just says 'kill it.' It's barbaric, slaughtering children who never did any harm to anyone. It's the Obscurus inside of them that does the harm and it's never their fault that they developed one. It's their parents or their society._

 _Newt, please. It's clear to me that you very much value life and I'm begging you not to hold Thomas Crane against me. I already hate myself enough for what happened to that poor boy. We haven't been in contact for very long but I've become rather fond of you. I couldn't bear it if you hated me._

 _Elvira_

 _P.S. Some of the ingredients you'll need are going to be impossible for you to find in West Africa and I've no idea how stocked a potions cabinet you keep. Anything even remotely tricky I've included in this package. Best of luck, Newt Scamander._

Newt held the letter in trembling hands. He couldn't imagine it. He'd seen the aftermath of some of the Sudanese girl's rampages but she'd been kept sedated in hopes that would slow the progression of the Obscurus' influence over her. Being caught in the middle of that destruction, not knowing what was going on, and then seeing his friend and colleague in danger – he didn't blame Elvira for lashing out even if he did regret the fate of poor little Thomas Crane.

But once again he'd asked and Elvira had answered with more than he'd ever hoped. The notes from Señora Ramirez filled his hands. He saw what she meant about the work being incomplete. She'd sent along the original Spanish and her own English translations. Both were peppered with question marks and Elvira had clearly tried to make a little progress on the woman's work but hadn't succeeded. Still, it was more information than he'd dreamed of having. He'd been expecting confirmation of his own plan to extract the Obscurus and perhaps a vague idea of how such a thing might be accomplished, not three-quarters of a potion and ritual which would hopefully save the girl's life.

Elvira had even sent along some of the ingredients Señora Ramirez had deemed critical in her research, and good thing she had. Some of them were things that would be impossible to find on this continent or things he was running low on. Two he wasn't even sure what they were until he saw the plant and realized Señora Ramirez and Elvira both had noted it down with a regional name.

Newt shook his head. He'd been killing himself over this for days and Elvira had provided so much more than he'd ever dreamed! To think that such a brilliant and educated woman was confined to New York City for some reason… It killed him to recall the sadness in her letter when she considered never managing to travel to Africa. She was an amazing woman and she was persecuted because of her surname and one single action.

Newt shook his head, lunging to his feet with notes and ingredients in hand, ready to change a girl's fate.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hi. So... Basically my life has imploded with BUSY. I'm starting my last semester in college plus working on the days when I'm not in college. I have no real way to schedule my free time, meaning I have no real way to schedule updates. I am not abandoning this story by any means because writing is what's keeping me sane, but I can't really guarantee anything even resembling a schedule. I'm sorry about that, as I know a lot of people really enjoyed having something to look forward to with TbaS, but unfortunately that's not the situation here with Cactus Cat.**

* * *

That piece of paper in Credence's pocket was the biggest secret he'd ever had. Just in case Ma found it, he had laid in bed that first night and repeated the address on it over and over and over until it would never leave his brain. Then he'd hidden the paper itself away folded into a tiny square and tucked into a joint on his bedframe. Ma wasn't above searching their rooms – it was how Chastity had been caught with a pair of lacy gloves that she swore someone had left behind after a service. He didn't want her to find that piece of paper and start demanding answers, and he also didn't want to throw it away. There was this terrible fear that he'd misremember a digit of the address or get the street wrong and he'd end up unable to find Iliana.

He hadn't had the guts to actually try yet, though. During his rare free time, when he was supposed to be scouting locations for the next rally, he would slowly drift up one street and down another, making his way through the grid-like streets of New York City and coming closer and closer to her address. He never made it all the way though. There was that fear that she hadn't meant it, that she'd just been trying to be kind. That she would look at him with as much disdain as Ma did. That Ma would somehow know he'd run off and met a girl. Not just any girl, but a girl his Ma hated. He never had the nerve to actually do it.

Until today.

Ma had been… quiet. For two weeks after the fight at Bethesda Fountain she'd been withdrawn. Credence had never seen her like that before, so… small. There was a part of him, a tiny, vicious part that he berated himself for, that was glad to see Mary Lou Barebone be the one beaten down for once. But the part of him that had lived with the woman for as long as he could remember was terrified. Because angry Ma, disdainful Ma, righteous judgment Ma, those he knew how to deal with and tiptoe around. But a subdued Ma? That meant new territory, and likely several nasty surprises.

The third week after the fight was when it hit. The slightest thing set Mary Lou off. Once she had even yanked Modesty around in the kitchen and paddled her rear viciously with a wooden spoon for making too much noise washing the dishes. Even Chastity, the golden child, the one who made a mistake once or twice a year, had been subject to abuse. A small water spot on the church floor after she'd scrubbed had gotten her bathroom duty with the lye soap that cracked her hands painfully, followed by preparing a salty soup for dinner.

Credence had taken the worst of it. He hadn't spoken in Mary Lou's presence for two days for fear that she'd take after him again hadn't dared to say anything to the sulking Chastity for fear she'd try and get him in trouble again to take Ma's eyes off of her. He made himself as small as possible, did his work as quickly and perfectly as possible, even went above and beyond. He tried his hardest to keep Mary Lou happy, but it didn't matter what he did.

Today had been when she snapped. Credence wasn't even sure what he was supposed to have done on this occasion. Her voice had been so shrill that his ears rang and as he cowered against the railing on the balcony, he didn't bother to listen to whatever scripture or vitriol was pouring from her mouth. He just focused on keeping his body as loose as possible as the belt cracked over his shoulders. He'd learned long ago that tensing up, while he couldn't always control his muscles, made it hurt worse.

When Mary Lou left his back was a blazing mass of pain. Everything hurt. Breathing hurt, sobbing hurt, even trying to drag himself to his feet was too painful. Credence was left to crawl back to his bedroom, tears running down his face. His cheeks burned as Chastity's door opened and he froze, keeping his eyes on the ground. He had never felt more worthless in his life when Chastity gave a small, "Hm," at the sight of him and just walked past him and down the stairs. Like he was nothing, like his pain was expected and deserved and he had earned every bit of it.

 _Sinner,_ Mary Lou's voice hissed in his head. _Sinner, born of a devil-woman. You were born into filth and darkness._

Credence managed to kick his door closed behind him and pick himself up enough to sprawl, face down, on his bed. His mattress was nothing but a thin pallet, his pillow clumsily re-stitched around the edges to keep the stuffing inside, but it was better than the floor.

Credence moved his arm, reaching up for the corner where the paper was concealed. It sent a fresh wave of pain down his back and Credence let out an involuntary whine at the sensation of skin tearing and a trickle of blood running down his spine. He pushed on, Iliana's words filling his ears.

" _If you ever need to get away for a while, or just want to talk, look at the paper in your pocket. You'll be able to find me."_

He didn't know her. He'd only met her twice, and only for a handful of minutes each time. But both times she'd acted like she cared for him more than anyone else in his life ever had. She seemed like she cared about everyone, from that random boy on the street to Modesty.

Credence needed to get away, he needed to talk, he needed… he didn't even know. He just wanted someone to acknowledge his existence in a way that didn't involve pain or a verbal assault and he figured that, stranger or not, Iliana was his best chance.

Using his short fingernails, Credence pried the paper from its spot hidden in one of the joints of his bed frame. He sighed as he pulled the paper to his face, flicking it open with a thumb, eyes opened just a slit, just enough to read the familiar address….

Credence jerked involuntarily and moaned in pain as he did. His eyes blurred with tears, but he knew what he'd seen. A digit out of place in the address, an apartment number flipped, that he could dismiss as him misremembering. But the address was entirely different, a different street, a different floor. The whole thing had changed.

Credence felt as if he'd been struck by lightning.

 _Magic._

It was that more than anything else that gave him the courage to seek Iliana out. He needed answers, needed to know that what he was seeing was true and he wasn't going crazy.

It was an ordeal to get into his jacket but the dark fabric would absorb any blood and it would keep anyone from seeing the streaks and dots through his white shirt. With his hat on to hide under the brim, Credence dragged himself from the church and set off down the road.

He kept to main roads, instinctively cringing out of the way of the other pedestrians so that they wouldn't bump him. His heart was racing and his back was throbbing, but he couldn't help but think that tonight something special was going to happen. After so many years of hearing Ma rant and rail against magic and witchcraft, accusing Credence and his birth mother of making unnatural pacts with the devil – Credence certainly couldn't recall ever doing such a thing – then maybe he'd finally know the truth.

Even in Pike Street he stuck out thanks to his outdated clothes - cast-offs donated to the church – but Iliana lived in a fairly nice neighborhood and as he stood outside of her building, Credence felt even more insecure. If Iliana did have magic, what would she think of him for asking questions? What would she think if she _didn't_? What if he really was crazy, what if she was furious at him for asking either way, what if she did all those terrible things Mary Lou accused witches of?

"Look, pal, are you going in or not?" demanded a gruff voice. Credence's vision flickered as the man shoved past him, the corner of his shoulder colliding directly with one of the most damaged areas of his back. He staggered slightly and faltered at the sight of the man glaring back at him over his shoulder, pushing through the door.

With the door quite literally swinging closed before him, Credence made his decision and pushed on, entering the apartment. Stairs were a special kind of hell, but he managed to make it up to the top floor and find the door he was looking for.

His hands were shaking but, feeling brave for the first time in a very long time, Credence raised a fist and knocked.

* * *

Iliana had decided that since it was her night off, she was going to have a nice night to herself. She'd turned off the lights and lit candles to set the mood a bit more and uncorked a bottle of elf-made wine. After another trip to the greengrocer's earlier in the evening, she'd made herself a tray of breads, cheeses, meats and berries to nibble on. Dressed in her lightest and most comfortable peignoir set, hair pinned up loosely, Iliana stretched out languidly on the couch, nibbling on her treats and reading.

 _The arithmantic value of half-breeds such as half-werewolves or half-giants can be determined by subtracting the value of a normal witch or wizard from the value of the outside parents. The resulting total can then be applied to any number of equations, up to and including the best spells for the capture and destruction of such creatures…_

Iliana shuddered faintly at the line, well aware of the fact that many witches and wizards felt that way about people like her. She'd had more than one witch come after her for drawing away the attention of a man she'd had her eye on. Half the time Iliana either didn't even know who they were talking about or hadn't been near the man in question in days.

Iliana reached over to the side table where her plate of treats and wine were sitting and lifted her glass, taking a long sip. She closed her eyes as she swallowed, tucking her hand to her chest and lowering her chin over the top of the glass.

When the knock came at the door, she was surprised. It was barely ten o'clock and Elvira normally wasn't back until two in the morning. Either something had gone horribly wrong or very, very well. Setting her wine and book aside, Iliana approached the door. She pulled it open, saying as she did,

"It must have been an interesting night at the bar…"

She trailed off. It wasn't her sister standing there but a familiar hunched, dour figure. Credence Barebone. She hadn't seen him in weeks. Iliana had assumed he'd burned the paper she left with him and intended to have nothing to do with her. As much trouble as she'd apparently gotten him in, she would hardly blame him. She'd just made peace with the idea of simply hoping for the best for him and now, suddenly, there he was. Standing in front of her door and looking like he had no idea what to do next.

"You're not my sister," Iliana said, bemused.

"I-I…" Credence's face was red. He refused not only to meet her eyes but to look at her at all. It took one look at his conservative attire for Iliana to realize he wasn't comfortable seeing her in her nightclothes. "I shouldn't have come."

"Nonsense," Iliana insisted, stepping out of the doorway and beckoning him inside. Credence's eyes darted past her into the darkened room.

"I-Is… Are you alone?" he asked nervously. Iliana nodded and he shook his head quickly. But something seemed to stop him. He winced, freezing in place for a moment, and slowly returned to a curiously stiff posture.

"Are you hurt, Credence?" Iliana asked worriedly. "Do you need me to take you to a doctor?"

Credence twitched. "We also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character," he recited mechanically and Iliana had heard enough of Mary Lou's speech to guess that he was quoting the Bible.

It made her close her eyes in horror as she realized – Credence had not only been broken down like that horse, but even worse, Mary Lou had twisted it around to make him think he deserved it, and she was doing him a kindness by beating the life out of him. She had never in her life heard of something so twisted, and looking at how old he was, she guessed he had endured that sort of life for well over a decade.

Religion, particularly Christianity, wasn't something Iliana had ever put much stock in. Any group with a saying like 'thou shalt not suffer a switch to live' would undoubtedly not welcome her on Sundays. But she supposed she did believe in some kind of grand plan – hoped for one, at least, instead of a messy mix of people just doing what they could and hoping for the best – and that did imply that someone or something had to plan it out. More than once she'd done what she supposed counted as praying, thought it was more simply putting a wish or a hope out into the world and crossing her fingers for the best.

She did that now, thinking, deep in her heart, _If anyone's listening, help this poor man, because no one deserves this. And give me the strength to try and help,_ she added. Elvira had usually been the one who patched up people and animals but years of watching her sister made her confident she could perhaps pull it off.

Granted, what a project to start off with.

"Credence," Iliana said, stretching out her hand invitingly, "would you like to come in?"

He still wouldn't look at her. "It's not appropriate…"

Iliana raised an eyebrow. "Are you planning on doing something to compromise my virtue?"

"No!" The amount of horror in his voice at the very idea made her chuckle slightly.

"And I'll try to keep my hands to myself," she promised him, watching his cheeks go pink again. "So if we've agreed on that, would you please keep me company?"

The look on Credence's face was a mix of pain and eagerness and uncertainty as he stepped cautiously over the doorstep. He looked like he was waiting for lightning to strike him for daring to be alone with her, and Iliana had to gently urge him further in so that she had enough room to shut the door behind him.

"Can I take your jacket?" she offered, well acquainted with the role of hostess. Credence replied with a no just as vehement as the one that he had let out when she asked if he had plans to assault her. It made her suspicious. Iliana narrowed her eyes.

"Credence," she said, working very hard to keep her anger from her voice lest he think it was aimed at him, "I'm going to take off your jacket."

It was sad the way, when faced with an order, he went limp, arms loose at his side and head lowered like a puppet hung on a rack, waiting for a puppeteer to come along and make him dance to their tune. It was easy for her to move behind him and reach up. Iliana first pulled off his hat, hanging it on the hook where Elvira's usually rested. She took a moment to note that the bowl cut really did him no favors before reaching up for the collar of his jacket. Iliana was careful as she peeled it back and down his arms and finally all the way off.

The blood stood out sharply against the back of his white shirt, thin lines, drips, and scattered spots. There were even a few rips in the fabric where a buckle had probably caught him wrong. Iliana raised a trembling hand to her mouth.

"Is this…" she whispered, feeling sick, "is this why you came?"

"I don't… I didn't…" Credence was actually shaking and it took her a moment to find a place she was confident was uninjured. Iliana laid her hand tenderly on his upper arm.

"Credence," she murmured, "I know you don't know me… I don't really know you." That was perhaps the strangest part of all of it, the fact that they were basically strangers and yet he'd come to her after he'd been whipped and she was completely okay with him taking shelter here. "And I can't promise," she admitted with a wince, "that I won't hurt you because I'm not very good with people generally, and I may say something wrong... But I can promise you that I won't do anything to physically hurt you if you don't try and hurt me first. So as long as you don't raise a hand to me, you don't have anything to fear."

"I wouldn't," Credence whispered with such intensity that Iliana believed him in a second.

"I'm going to ask," she said patiently, "do you want me to take you to a doctor?"

"I can handle it."

The worst part was that Iliana was very certain that he could because he had before.

"Okay," she said slowly. "But do you want _me_ to try and take a look at it? Is that why you came?" She needed to know what had brought him to her door after three weeks of nothing, what straw had finally broken that camel's back, before she could work out what she needed to do.

Iliana reached out and took Credence's hand. The whole situation was utterly surreal. Perhaps because she was genuinely unafraid of him, while he seemed genuinely terrified of her. Iliana was at the very least wary of most men. She'd seen how they reacted to her. Credence, however, seemed too caught up in his own fears and insecurities to lose his mind to the natural seduction of her veela blood. Were he a wizard, she wasn't sure she would feel nearly so comfortable. It was a somewhat disparaging thought to think, but considering she had magic on her side, Iliana really didn't have much to fear from a No-Maj.

When Credence didn't reply, Iliana instead took his hand carefully between hers and pulled him to sit next to her on the couch. She was careful to sit him at one end and then move to the other, not wanting to crowd him.

Credence reached into his pocket and pulled something out, the little slip of paper that she'd passed him. Iliana bit her lip. She didn't know why she'd done it, honestly. It was a simple spell that parents mostly used to find their kids if they were going to be allowed to run around town and play in the brush. She'd seen Elvira pass papers like it to people who needed help so that, if they wanted, they could get in touch with her. It had just seemed… like the thing to do.

Now she was terrified, because she was wrong. If Credence had told his Ma, if he'd seen the address change, then he'd know she was magical. Like many people, Iliana didn't have a whole lot of respect for Rappaport's Law, but it was one thing to reveal herself to a trusted friend and quite another to reveal herself to the son of an anti-magic leader. Iliana almost lunged for where her wand was half-hidden under the lip of her plate, ready to Obliviate Credence and turn him out.

But he looked so confused as he passed it over to her.

"It changed," he said quietly. "How did it change? Are you magic?"

 _Are you magic?_ Iliana almost chuckled. It was a clunky, childish sort of way to ask that to her ears.

"Do you think I am?" she asked instead of answering.

Credence looked up and met her gaze for a moment before blinking and looking away, flushing slightly. "When I first saw you… I thought you were an angel," he admitted, and there was something very _normal_ in the way he looked chagrined at admitting it. Perhaps there was hope for him after all. "But not the wrathful kind that Ma talks about. A guardian angel."

Iliana blushed. She'd heard the normal 'hey, angel!' and 'where ya goin' angelface?' But somehow, hearing it in this context, the term actually sounded like a compliment.

"You thought…" Iliana stumbled over her words. "You don't think I'm a witch?"

Credence shook his head. "If you are a witch, then you're a good kind. Like Glinda."

Iliana's eyes widened. She remembered reading that book in the library when she was younger. As a child, she'd liked No-Maj stories of magic, reading them and knowing decisively what was and wasn't possible. Flying around in a bubble, for example – entirely possible. Flying monkeys? Not possible. Not legally, at least.

"I'm surprised your mother would let you read that," she admitted.

Credence smiled faintly. It was just a faint uptick of the corners of his mouth, but it was enough to fill her with delight. "She didn't. She told me to teach Modesty to read. I took her to the library. She wanted to read it… We didn't finish, but it was nice."

Iliana smiled. "If I told you I were a witch, what would you do? Would you tell your mother? Would you try and burn me at the stake?"

Credence looked up at her, wide-eyed, and actually held eye contact for several moments. "No, never," he swore, and again, there was such intensity to it that she immediately believed him. "I don't want you to get hurt, ever."

Iliana smiled. "Oh, but it's my job to take care of you, isn't it? After all, I am your guardian angel." She winked and made a swirling gesture with her finger. "Will you let me take a look at your back, Credence?"

He was bright red again and hesitated for a moment, but he raised his hands to the tie at his throat, slowly undoing the knot until it could be slipped from around his throat. Iliana waited patiently, smiling at him and trying to hide her fear about what might be under the starched white shirt. It wasn't to be, though, because his fingers were shaking so badly he could barely get one button through the buttonhole.

Iliana reached out and laid her hand over his, stopping him. "If you're not comfortable taking off your shirt, I might be able to work around it. But if you need help, I can do it for you. Whichever you'd prefer."

Credence didn't answer verbally, but he did lower his hands. Iliana thought for a moment that he was denying her help, but then he lifted his chin, allowing her room to work. She slid forwards onto the cushion that had been serving as a No Man's Land between them and began to work. In quick order she had the buttons of his shirt undone and the tails untucked, pushing it off his shoulders so that it fell around his back.

"Turn around?" Iliana requested, making sure it didn't sound like a command. Credence hissed and flinched as he did so, but he squirmed around on the couch, displaying his back to her.

Iliana let out one sharp squeak before she smacked her palm flat over her mouth to muffle the noise. It didn't stop the tears from building though because his back looked much like Abigail's. There were thick ropes of pinkish-purple scar from the deeper lashes and thinner, older scars of silver-pink. Overlaid over it all were bruises and bloody lines that matched up with the damage she'd seen on the back of his shirt.

The noise made Credence hunch and lower his head. She watched the way his back pulled as he folded in one himself, could actually watch as one of the just-formed scabs split open and began to leak blood again, a thin line that ran down the length of his spine and vanished below his belt.

"I'm going to have to touch you, okay?"

"You… you want to?"

Iliana blinked, mouth falling open, not quite sure how to respond to that. "I-I… Well, I have to, to take care of these marks."

"Chastity never would," Credence murmured. "She said it was hideous. She said I earned it. I never asked Modesty. She's too young."

Iliana was quickly developing a grudge against whoever Chastity was that sat squarely below her outright hatred of Mary Lou.

"It's not hideous," Iliana insisted, even though it sort of was. "You're not hideous," she corrected herself. "And I have absolutely no problem touching you." To illustrate that fact, Iliana found a spot on his side just below his ribcage that seemed unmarked and laid her palm there. She watched Credence's muscles flutter and spasm like a horse trying to shake off a fly, and she would have removed her hand immediately after seeing that if not for the fact that he also leaned into her touch almost desperately.

She had intended to wordlessly summon her wand and take care of his wounds that way, but Credence clearly needed a little positive physical contact. Besides, healing spells weren't her forte, but she was equally versed in spells that did and didn't require wands.

Iliana whispered under her breath, a somewhat lengthy incantation, and held her breath. She released it when the tip of her finger glowed blue. It meant the spell had worked.

She reached out her hand and touched the top of a mark that was laid diagonally across his right shoulder blade. Credence flinched, but when she dragged her finger down the cut it sealed itself closed and the pain began to vanish. He let out a shuddering breath that Iliana swore she felt in her own gut as she continued to trace the lashes across his back, closing them up. It took another incantation and this time her palm lit red. She turned to the bruises now, massaging them gently with the flats of her fingers, and after a few seconds of attention they were gone without a trace. The scars were another story, they took a bit more complicated healing magic than Iliana was really capable of, and so they remained, much to her frustration.

In a last gesture, Iliana raised her hand and pressed it to the back of Credence's neck. She dragged it down his spine to the end of his ribs and then pulled back. A final flick of her wrist vanished the blood and repaired his shirt.

"You're healed," she said quietly.

Credence turned slowly, seemingly not able to believe what she had done. Iliana wasn't quite comfortable with the amount of adoration she saw in his gaze as he was able to move without starts and stops, without pain slicing through his shoulders.

"You really are magic," he whispered, and his eyes darted all over her form in awe. "You really are a guardian angel."

Iliana was certain she was bright red. "Well… ah…" The clock chimed, striking eleven, and Credence paled slightly, shooting to his feet.

"I… I have to… She does bed checks…" He looked terrified.

Iliana waved her hands at him, standing as she urged him on. "Go on, Credence, I don't want you to get in trouble on my account." She scooped up the paper from the couch cushion as she passed him to open the door. Credence started to walk out but hesitated, one foot hovering over the hallway carpet.

"Can I… I mean, is it okay if…?"

Iliana could guess what he wanted. She pressed the paper back into his palm. "Come see me any time you can safely," she urged him. "I'll be waiting." He stepped out into the hallway, turning back to look at her again.

And because he looked so lost, Iliana rose up on her toes and pressed a quick peck to his cheek, smiling at him brightly. Credence looked like a smacked fish as she shut the door behind him.

Iliana let out a heavy breath before moving back to the couch. She flopped down on her back with a staggering lack of grace, even knocking one of the pillows off onto the floor. Her peignoir spread around her and Iliana took the ends of the robe, flapping them absently.

"Guardian angel indeed," she said faintly, and huffed, reaching for the half-glass of wine she still had left. Within a second, she had downed it, trying to work out just what the hell she was supposed to do.


	8. Chapter 8

Credence didn't get much free time, but what he did get, he treasured. It was a rare night when Ma went to bed before he and Modesty did, but she had complained of a headache and retired for the evening before they'd even finished clearing the dinner dishes. Chastity had given Credence a stern look before heading up to her room. Credence had followed, waiting just long enough for Chastity to be asleep before taking off into the darkness, the soft snores from behind Ma's doors filling him with confidence.

His feet had roamed the length and breadth of the city and they took him to one of the places he liked best. It was a small park in a residential area, one that was almost never busy. There were no swings or slides, so families with children didn't bother. In fact, all it had to recommend it was a stretch of grass dotted with a few small, overgrown flowerbeds, and a fountain with a woman clad in wispy stone robes holding a sword in the center.

Credence enjoyed the city after dark. There was no one there giving him dismissive or disdainful looks or hissing insults under his breath. He didn't have to worry about passing out enough flyers or getting bumped by a passer-by with fresh marks across his back. With no one around to remind him that he was different, he could forget that he was for a while and just be one of the thousands of souls that lived in New York City.

Sitting here in the dark, breathing deeply, listening to the calming sound of running water, he felt more confident than he ever did.

Credence perched on the edge of the base of the fountain squinting into the dark water. Beneath the surface were a few pennies, wishes tossed in by the whimsical. Looming over them, a large pale blob framed by the black brim of his hat, his face was reflected in the surface of the water. He didn't have much to recommend him, it was true, with a skeletally angular face and disproportionately large ears. His hair was cropped short according to Ma's wishes and his clothes were out of style. But he wasn't ugly, he didn't think. He wasn't that visibly different from the other city dwellers. So why did they always seem able to tell?

Credence reached up, tugging at the tight neck of his shirt as he felt that beast that lingered in the bit of his stomach perk up, lazily lifting its head to scent the air. It didn't often bother him in these calm times but there were a few occasions where it was like it sensed a weakness in him. On those occasions, instead of roaring and rattling the bars of the cage he'd built around it, it curled slow and seductive in the pit of his stomach, ever-tightening coils of dark thoughts flooding his mind and making him think terrible things.

 _Tearing the whole damn city apart because what had it ever done for him making all those people who sneered own their noses at him look up in fear as they groveled for mercyNO!_

Credence whimpered, reaching up and clutching his head, knocking his hat off. It rolled a short distance away as he frantically shook his head, trying to fight off those terrible, sinful thoughts. They weren't him, they weren't him, he chanted in his mind. They were that sinful thing inside of him, the thing Ma tried to hard to beat out of him.

Footsteps.

Feeling like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have been, Credence lowered his hands and whipped around. It wasn't hard to locate the source of the sound, there was only one other person out on the street. She stood under the streetlight wearing heels and a flittering dress with a thick ruff of white fur at the hem. Her hair was in finger waves, glowing like the moon along with the thick ropes of pearls coiled around her wrist and throat. A thin rope of pearls wrapped around her head, a bloom of white feathers at her temple. She looked beautiful, like a movie star, like she was too good to be true.

"Credence," she said, voice carrying in the stillness of the night, and she made her way across the street to him.

()()()()()(()()

Iliana didn't particularly like wandering the streets of New York after dark, but on occasion it was necessary. This was one of those occasions, when Gus hadn't been out all day and they had come home from the bar to find him chewing on the table to let out some pent-up energy. Elvira was exhausted and still had bookkeeping and orders to handle, and so Iliana was the one left to take him for a walk around the city before she could pass out for the night.

The alternative was to wake up and find Gus gone with a hole chewed through the door.

"Gus, what has gotten into you?" Iliana huffed, wishing for a moment that she'd thought to change into more comfortable shoes. They wouldn't have gone with her cocktail dress and gloves, but at least she wouldn't have been slipping in heels that provided very poor traction on the wet sidewalk.

Gus certainly was a bundle of energy. He was tugging at his leash and whining. Under the geass of the symbols on his collar he looked like a dachshund, but he pulled like a great Dane as they walked. Iliana took a few quick, jogging steps as she rounded the corner, passing under a bright streetlight.

It was late enough that most sensible people were inside and the streets were empty. That was the only reason that she heard the gasp. Iliana looked up and cast around curiously for whatever had made it, Gus yanking on her arm. His tugs guided her eyes to the small park across the road for her. Next to a small fountain with a sword-wielding classical woman standing in the middle pouring water from her mouth sat Credence Barebone.

Iliana's mouth dropped open in surprise, but she supposed it wasn't too impossible. New York City was a big place, but they both seemed to stick to Manhattan. Again, still a massive area but it wasn't impossible that they'd come across each other. Still, given that she wasn't actively seeking him out anymore it seemed a little surprising…

Than again, from the minute she met him she felt a strange draw to him. Whether it was curiosity over someone who could be a part of a group like the Second Salemers, or desire to help a person who was suffering abuse, or something else, she'd never been able to put her finger on. If she were prepared to be a little philosophical, maybe it was fate. It could even have been some kind of instinct from her veela mother guiding her to easy prey. Veela were beings, not beasts, there was no doubt about that, but there was also no doubt that their very biology made them deft hunters.

"Credence," she said, and immediately she was crossing the road and heading to stand beside him. He was frozen, staring at her like he couldn't believe that she was real and, oddly enough, his hat was lying abandoned on the wet concrete several inches from the toes of his shoes.

Gus trotted up to the hat, sniffing, and Iliana recognized the glint in his eye that said he was about to try and take a bite to see if it agreed with him.

"Leave it, Gus," she chided gently, wary of snapping so close to Credence. She bent down and picked up his hat. Her grip on Gus's leash shifted, the loop sliding up her wrist, as she brushed a few fallen leaves from the brim. A gentle smile on her face, she handed it back and said, "I believe this is yours."

"Ili.. Miss Velikova…" Credence took the hat and lowered his eyes, his cheeks burning visibly red even in the dim lighting. Iliana shifted and sat on the edge of the fountain next to him, ignoring any dirt or wet. That could be handled with a spell at any time.

"Iliana is fine," she assured him. Credence's neck rolled and his fingers twitched towards her.

"Your dress…" he mumbled. "It's getting dirty."

"Oh, don't worry about it," Iliana assured him. "I can get a stain out of anything," she said with a cheeky wink. Her smile began to feel stretched and fake as Credence still refused to look up at her. Their last encounter at her apartment had obviously rattled him some, not that his confidence had been stellar to begin with. Her mouth relaxed into a faint frown, casting around for something to change the subject to. The burbling of water drew her gaze to the statue in the middle of the fountain and her gaze sharpened.

"You know, I don't think I've ever noticed this fountain before," she commented absently. "That woman in the middle… what would you say she is?"

That got his attention. Credence still refused to look at her, but he did look up at the beatific face of the carved woman in the middle of the fountain, her sword point falling behind her gracefully. "I don't know. One of those Greek myths, maybe?"

"A Greek myth?" Iliana commented lightly. "Hm. Maybe. I don't think so. Perhaps it's just because of where my mother's from, but she rather reminds me of a vila." The word sounded the same as veela and they were doubtlessly the inspiration for the No-Maj myth, but the No-Majs had taken a basic understanding of them and run with it, sprinkling artistic license everywhere.

"Have you ever heard of them, Credence?" Iliana asked lightly. She took a risk, reaching out and touching his knee very gently. As expected he jumped, gasping slightly. He seemed torn between pulling away from her and leaning into the touch. The result was a conflicted expression as he whispered,

"No."

"Not surprising," Iliana murmured, taking pity on him and pulling her fingers back. "They're Slavic creatures, like fairies. Beautiful women with long blonde hair; adept fighters and hunters and healers. Sometimes, they can even change their shape into things like wolves or swans. If you believe the myths, they like to lure men in with their seductive circle dances. I don't think that's true though. I think they just like to dance. Men come on their own."

To her credit, there was only a trace of bitterness in her voice.

"Is that what you are?"

Iliana tensed, the astuteness of the observation surprising her but she supposed maybe she hadn't been very subtle. A glance showed that while she'd been distracted, Credence had raised his head enough to peer at her from under his lashes, shy but curious.

"I thought I was an angel?" Iliana asked teasingly, and apparently that was a bit too much because he ducked his head once more and retreated. Iliana felt a spike of frustration. She wanted to just grab him and shake him, scream in his face to straighten up and throw his shoulders back, to go and tell Mary Lou Barebone where she could stick her switch, but she knew that was selfish, her own impatience with his beaten-in reticence rearing its ugly head.

"S-Sorry…" Credence stammered. "I'm sure you don't… don't want to be called some… some Slavic monster."

Iliana twitched at the unintentionally insensitive comment. Instead she scooted a bit closer along the edge of the fountain. The toe of her shoe brushed the side of his foot.

"I don't mind," she assured him. "Because they're not monsters. They're actually very friendly unless you make them mad, and then they can be vicious. And in the stories, they're almost always sworn blood sisters to heroes."

"What's a… what's that?"

"A blood sister?" Iliana clarified, and he nodded gently. "They swore loyalty to the heroes, became family even though they weren't blood related. Some people still do it, make blood oaths to always stay together and protect each other." Her finger gently traced up to the pendant hanging with her pearls, the vial of Elvira's blood that would warn her if ever her sister was in trouble. For just a moment she considered asking her sister to make her one that would warn her if Credence was in trouble, but quickly brushed off the thought as madness.

"So… so they're like guardian angels too?"

Iliana smiled faintly, because with Credence so many things seemed to be wrapped up in a religious overtone. "A suppose you could think of them as a pagan version, yes. Same basic principle in some ways."

"I knew you weren't human."

Iliana wrinkled her nose, shifting away from him warily. The way he said it, she'd heard those words uttered before and they never preceded anything good. Normally they were succeeded by insults and slurs. "And what do you mean by that?" Credence shifted, moving away from her as well, angling so that one shoulder was upraised towards her defensively. "Credence?" she pressed. "What do you mean, you knew I wasn't human. Did you tell Mary Lou that?"

"No!" He seemed horrified at the very thought, moving faster than he'd ever done before. He stood up like he'd just sat on a tack, backing away, ringing his hands. Iliana flinched, fingers curling tight against the wet concrete edge of the fountain, watching as he shook. "No, sh-she'd try to hurt you, l-like at the park only worse a-and I-I… I don't… I c-can't…"

"Credence… Credence, breathe!" Iliana urged, starting to grow nervous he was going to hyperventilate. "It's alright, I believe you. I know you'd never do anything to hurt me. You promised."

"N-No I wouldn't but Ma… Ma says magic is evil… that it's bad but you're n-not… but you a-are… so… so I-I don't…"

"Credence," Iliana said nervously, because he looked like he was being torn apart by the conflict of what Mary Lou had beaten into him compared with what he'd observed of her and Iliana wondered if maybe she hadn't made things worse by relaxing her guard on her magic around him. She'd trusted him when he said he didn't mean her any harm. She hadn't imagined she could actually do him harm, even though by MACUSA standards she'd already trampled on about eight laws.

He was shaking badly, his hands wringing, and he still refused to look at her. Iliana stood up and moved forwards, her heels clicking sharply on the path. Credence flinched, but she wasn't having it as she walked forwards, gripped his chin, and yanked it up to meet her gaze. Credence cringed, a high-pitched whine escaping his lips, and still refused to look at her, staring past her ear.

"Credence, look at me," Iliana urged gently, letting her hand slide from his chin to his shoulder. She remembered how he'd leaned into her grip back when she was healing him and she used that now, gently massaging his shoulder in hopes of soothing him. "Look at me. It's okay, it's alright."

"It's not," he whimpered, working himself up into more of a frenzy and still refusing to look her in the eye. "Because if M-Ma knows about you… sh-she'd find out, she always finds out… If I was the r-reason…I-I'd kill myself… Not that it'd be a loss…"

"Don't you dare!" The words came out far sharper than she intended and Iliana hated herself for the way Credence shrunk away from her, cringing like he expected a blow.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" He was tripping over himself to apologize for making her angry while Iliana was just terrified of the idea of Credence killing himself.

"God, what has she done to you?" Iliana moaned, burying her face in her hands. "How could anyone do this?"

Credence shook his head. "Sh-She had to… I'm bad… I'm evil, like m-my r-real mother… I st-stole a-and…"

"Credence," Iliana said desperately. "How in the name of Abigail Williams are you _evil?_ You are the most non-threatening person I have ever seen in my life!"

"Y-You don't know… you don't understand," he cried, reaching up and clutching at the sides of his face like he was trying to hold himself together. Iliana couldn't help it even though she knew crowding him at the moment was possibly the worst thing that she could have done.

"Credence-"

She reached for him, he threw up his arms defensively, and Iliana cried out as a wave of air smacked into her lifting her bodily from the ground and tossing her into the fountain with a mighty splash. Pain lanced through her elbow and rib as she landed in the shallow water and it took her a moment to get herself oriented. When she did, Iliana sat up, spitting out water and trying to wipe it from her eyes without smearing her mascara into them.

When she finally got herself together Credence was gone, vanished into the night. Gus stood on the edge of the fountain, hackles raised and a low growl rumbling in his belly. Iliana shifted, hissing a spell under her breath as she moved her hand to her side healing whatever damage had been done to her ribs. Already soaked through, she sat for a moment and stared at her reflection in the water, one arm draped over an upraised knee.

A pale, bedraggled face looked back at her, hair sticking to her cheeks and black smeared in a wide circle around her eyes. At that exact moment she appeared pathetic and in over her head. Iliana gave a soft sigh and curled up, skirt floating around her in the water, pressing her head to her knees.

"Sweet Sayre, what am I thinking, trying to fix something like this?"

* * *

 _Elvira,_

 _You are an angel, a godsend, a divine inspiration... Forgive me, I'm not usually so religious, but with the help of what you delivered to me, I believe I've isolated the missing elements of the Ramirez ritual that you sent me. A few are a bit hard to come by, but I've reached out to a friend in Istanbul who deals in such things and he's rounding the missing elements up as we speak. It would not have been possible without you though, and for that you have my eternal gratitude._

 _Time is my main concern now. As you know, the potion will take roughly a week and a half to prepare and the ritual lasts an entire day. That's not counting the time it will take for by friend to get me what I need. It's a stroke of luck that we are where we are in the lunar cycle or it would have been a little over a month before we could have attempted this. The girl wouldn't last that long, of that I have no doubt. I'm not even entirely positive she'll last the two and a half weeks it will take to get everything ready, though I try to stay optimistic._

 _It's hard dealing with her family now. I want to let them know that there's hope without getting their hopes up so high. I do believe the ritual could work, but it's untested and unproven. It's wrong to make them think I've found the solution when it might do nothing might even make the situation worse. Added to all that I'm trying to explain these things through a translator and I'm not very good with people to begin with…_

 _I don't think I'm making a leap when I say I think we had similar experiences in school. Mostly left alone, considered freaks by our peers… forgive me, but there was a rather cruel drawing left in that book you sent me. I guessed from there that such a thing likely wasn't uncommon. For me it was much the same. 'Newt Scamander kissed a salamander,' I heard that a lot._

 _I had only one friend. Her name was Leta Lestrange. She was roughly as unpopular as I was, perhaps even moreso. Part of it had to do with her family, personal details which are not mine to share. Some of it was house politics, which I'll attempt to explain._

 _You see, Slytherin is almost universally disliked by the other houses due to a rift between Salazar Slytherins and the other Founders and the connections the house has historically had with Dark magic. We Hufflepuffs might have been the butt of many jokes, but we were always considered, at the very least, non-offensive. Leta's family troubles weren't helped by her Sorting into Slytherin, and together we formed a little band of outcasts that ended when I left school._

 _That's part of why I'm very glad our relationship began the way it did. I hope I don't offend you when I say I think I'd have been terrified of you had I simply walked into the Cactus Cat one night and met you at the bar. When we write letters I can take back the foolish things that I sometimes come up with, censor all the awkward parts of my personality. It makes things easier for me, to be able to talk without being terrified I'm going to say something I won't be able to take back._

 _You had mentioned my meeting your sister in a previous letter before we were sidetracked with that minor issue of life or death. I would be absolutely delighted to do so, though I'll admit I'm slightly more excited to meet you. Actually, I find myself imagining introducing you to my brother when I'm stressed lately. I can imagine you would give my stuffed-shirt, rule-following brother a heart attack and it always makes me smile. Someday I'd like for you to actually meet him though._

 _Elvira… while the fate of Thomas Crane is something I do regret I can't be angry at you for acting to defend your companions. You didn't realize what you were dealing with, you saw a threat and reacted as many would have. I can't say that I'm entirely enthused by every part of the situation as you explained it to me, but it's very clear that this is something that still affects you deeply. I know you would never have wished that little boy harm. I may be making an assumption but from what you've told me of your duties in your community I suspect you've done more than enough good to balance the bad._

 _In summary, I could never hate you._

 _Wish me luck_

 _Newt_

 _PS While I did thoroughly enjoy the cactus cat juice you sent me… who or what is 'Spike?'_

Elvira sagged back in her chair, her legs crossed and propped up on the edge of her desk. She winced and shifted, crossing her right leg over her left so that it took less pressure, and clutched the letter to her chest.

 _He wasn't mad. He didn't hate her._

More than that, Newt had managed to correctly guess that some of what she did for the magical community in New York was her own form of penance. It would have been very easy for her to turn her back on the Wizarding community after the way they'd treated her family and the way they'd treated her personally, but in the course of a handful of letters Newt had managed to correctly predict that the death of Thomas had weighed on her heavily enough to drive her to try and make up for it in some grand, cosmic sense.

He just didn't realize quite how true it was.

Elvira leaned forward to the cluster of silver picture frames on her desk. There was Absalom, winking at her, and a bored-looking Iliana paging through a book. Newt himself offered her a hesitant smile and wave. She reached past all of them for the largest frame of the collection at the very back, lifting it up and settling it in her lap. Her fingers traced along the filigreed edges of the frame as the occupants inside waved and smiled at the camera. Only some of them were magical, and their uniforms covered a half dozen countries, but they were united on either side of her wheelchair, grinning and leaning in towards her with their own injuries still visible in bruises and bandages.

Elvira reached down and rubbed her knee as a phantom pain shot through it, the noise of a mortar round going off echoing in her ears with the sound of shouts and moans of pain. She winced, setting the picture back where it belonged and making a note to write to Henri sometime in the near future.

For now, though, she had a magizoologist to write back to.

* * *

 _Newt,_

 _I'm so glad to hear about your progress with the Ramirez ritual! I'll admit that my fiddling with it fell by the wayside about the same time I became involved in something else. It was the thing that ended with me confined to New York, something I will tell you about one day, but not now. Not until you're actually in front of me and we can really talk._

 _Don't worry about whatever 'awkward parts of your personality' you think are going to make me uncomfortable. As Iliana occasionally reminds me, I'm not exactly a picnic to deal with all the time either. Getting to know each other's quirks is part of becoming closer friends. It's a challenge I find myself very eager for. I'm hoping that your friend in Istanbul will pull through faster than expected and the ritual will work smoothly – not just for your Sudanese girl, but because I want you hurrying on to New York. Having a time frame makes me more excited._

 _Frankly, I'm starting to become scared there's one in New York City too. It's probably just because Obscurials are on my mind thanks to our conversations, but I've enclosed the article that ran in the Daily Ghost this morning. A lot of property damage – buildings destroyed, streets ripped up, and witnesses reported seeing a black mass. Of course it could have been a duel gone out of hand, this Is the first time anything like this has been reported, but still. I'd like your opinion on it. It's been a while since I encountered an Obscurial, and I'm ashamed to admit that my own feelings might have clouded the memories._

 _I liked it better when it was always thunderbirds with us. Far lighter a subject._

 _I'd forgotten to explain the label! Spike is the cactus cat who was responsible for the beverage. I found him years ago in Nevada. He was injured, unable to go out, and unfortunately his mate had a rare trait – albinism. As you can imagine, it should have been a death sentence for the poor creature, living in a desert, but somehow she'd survived to adulthood. The problem was that she'd passed the trait on to every one of their litter. The whole family would have died if I hadn't found them. Since then, Spike has kept me in alcohol and I've provided his family with a habitat far more hospitable to their unique coloring._

 _Yet another reason MACUSA would like to arrest me._

 _It sounds like I would enjoy meeting your brother. I'll admit, I'm intrigued now. How did you end up traipsing hither and yon after besties while your brother, presumably, has a desk job? I'll admit Iliana and I are fairly different but the bar is a business we share. She sings there at night, I don't think I've ever told you that. She's very good, and the veela in her is only part of the reason._

 _It sounds like your friend Leta and I would have quite a bit in common. But I have a question – you said 'when I left school' not 'when we left school.' Were you different ages? Or did something happen at school? We've never pressed for personal details before and I won't now if you don't want to tell me, it's simply something I noticed and wondered about._

 _Wishing you all the luck in the world,_

 _Elvira_

 _PS You probably already know this, but come into New York via a Muggle ship and port. Coming in by wizarding methods will mean a trip to MACUSA and they WILL catch you. I wouldn't be shocked if they met you at the dock with handcuffs, considering what sort of a trip you've been on._


	9. Chapter 9

"Credence!"

Credence gasped as a hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked him into an alleyway between two tottering tenements on Pike Street. It wouldn't have been the first time a group of boys from the area, even those younger than he, had yanked him into an alleyway, thrown him up against the wall, and held him down for a beating. Except those boys always smelled of sweat and boiled cabbage, never expensive floral perfume.

And he didn't recall any of them having hair that was quite so blonde, either.

It took a long moment where Credence couldn't seem to process what he was seeing, because he wasn't being restrained… he was being hugged. By Iliana.

She released him, pulling back and looking up at him with wide, worried blue eyes. "I was so scared… When I saw in the paper about that black thing that attacked not far from where we were in the park that night, I was so worried you'd been hurt or…" She swallowed thickly.

There was a warmth settling deep in his bones as things that should have been instantly obvious slowly sunk through his befuddled brain. Iliana was here. She hugged him. Because she was… worried about him. For him. On his behalf. Because she… cared?

"I couldn't find another Second Salem rally so I couldn't come and see how you looked, and we never ran into each other around town. I couldn't think of anything better to do than to come down here and try to find you myself."

Come… down… here…

Panic seized Credence, obliterating the pleasant warmth that had been building in his chest, because Iliana was here, she was on Pike Street, where Ma held sway and where most people were perfectly content to allow the woman to do what she liked so long as she kept feeding their kids once a day. If Ma got her hands on Iliana, no one here would stop here from doing whatever she liked, up to an including burning her for witchcraft.

"You can't be here," Credence moaned, raising his hands to cover his eyes because he knew if he looked at her concerned face, lips parted and eyes looking up at him like he mattered he'd break and let her do whatever she liked. She didn't understand what was at risk, not just for him but for her. If he was caught it would be bad for him, but if they were caught together they'd both suffer Ma's wrath.

"What?" The offense in her voice made him lower his hands. Iliana had narrowed her eyes. She was upset, hands planted on her hips as she stared him down. "I have been out of my mind worrying about you, and you tell me… what? Go away?"

"No…" Credence tried to explain. "But if you're here… Ma's here, Chastity's here… It's too dangerous…"

"Dangerous," Iliana said slowly, and Credence watched in fascination as a plan came together behind her eyes.

Iliana knew it was foolish and foolhardy. She'd healed his back better than any doctor would have been able to had Credence gone to a hospital, she'd told him stories about exactly what kind of creature she half-was, but this was very different, somehow. This was a whole new level of trust.

Iliana's hand slipped into her purse and she pulled out her wand. It was not made by any of the wandmakers in the country, not Shikoba Wolfe or Violetta Beauvais. To purchase a wand one had to present their letter of acceptance to Ilvermorny, which Iliana had never received. Her parentage had been enough for the school to turn her away. The only reason Iliana had a wand now was her father. He'd labored for weeks to pull the thin willow switch into something workable, a single hair from Iliana's mother at the core of it all.

Now Iliana drew out her wand, Credence's eyes locking on it in a mixture of horror and fascination as she raised it and flicked sharply, whispering an incantation for a simple Notice-Me-Not charm. Now anyone looking down the alley or glancing out their window would find their eyes sliding over the space where they stood.

"No one will be able to see us," Iliana explained to him as she stowed her hand back in her purse. She found herself biting her lip as she looked up at him nervously. "Do you… feel better now?"

Credence didn't know what he felt. Part of him – the part he knew came from Ma and he couldn't decide whether he hated or appreciated – was screaming for him to grab the broken bit of brick by his feet and bring it down over her head, to remove the stain of evil from the world. But a far louder part of him was in awe of her, of what she could do. He'd long felt invisible, but she'd made it actually so and who knew what else she could do.

The only reason Credence didn't fully embrace that part of him was that it also included the swirling darkness inside of his stomach, the thing that growled and paced and begged to be released to let out it's anger…

Credence groaned and slid down the brick to sit on the ground, his knees forced tight to his chest by how close Iliana had been standing. He reached up, pulling off his hat so that he could bury his fingers in his hair.

"Credence?"

Iliana moved, side stepped and sitting down next to him. Credence thought to say something about her muddying her dress, but then he remembered how she'd laughed and waved him off at the fountain. She really could do magic, and that probably meant that little things like a spot on her clothes weren't a problem for her. She could wave that stick of hers – a wand, a real magic wand – and it would be clean and pressed.

"Credence, are you alright?" Iliana asked softly, and her hand came to lay on his bicep. Credence accepted the touch, welcomed it, in fact.

For so long he had been living a life that was hellish but at least he knew how to deal with it. Ma's rules formed strict guidelines and as long as he followed them he would remain reasonably okay. It wasn't a perfect life but it was one he was used to and, in a way, was comfortable with. It was familiar, and with familiarity came safety.

And then Iliana and turned all of that on its head. When he looked at her he saw the breaking of every single one of Ma's rules, saw the punishments she would rain down on the pair of them if she knew everything, and he knew he should shrink back but he didn't want to. Iliana offered the one thing she couldn't know that he craved more than anything else – her care.

She treated him like a real person. She talked to him, shared things about her life with him. Credence trusted her – with the knowledge of where he came from, with his little sister Modesty, with everything. She had seen his scars and instead of walking past him down the stairs as Chastity had she'd healed him, made him feel whole in a way he hadn't in… maybe ever.

"Credence…" Her hand was pulling back. She'd taken his silence for rejection and Credence was quick to move, to place his hand over hers to keep it in place. He didn't want to lose that small point of contact even as he boggled at his own audacity for daring to reach for her in such a familiar manner. But when he chanced a glance up at her face, unable to put aside the slight fear that he'd see disgust and rejection at his touch, she was smiling gently.

Iliana nodded encouragingly, pleased with him taking charge, in making it clear what he wanted. He hadn't wanted her to move her hand, and she was perfectly content to leave it where it was if that's what he wanted.

"Credence, you need to understand something," Iliana murmured, mind going back to the night by the fountain, specifically the end of it. She'd been launched through the air by a rush of power and she certainly hadn't attacked herself. As far as she knew, she was the only magical person in that park that night.

As far as she knew.

Iliana was fully aware that she had to take this carefully, that she had to be wary of pushing him too hard. That could cause a backslide and that was the last thing she wanted.

"If Mary Lou Barebone ever got her hands on a witch or a wizard, a _real_ one," Iliana stressed, "she wouldn't be able to hurt them. We are too powerful for that. A few spells, a quick incantation… They wouldn't even need that. We can to a thing called Disapparation – we vanish one place and appear somewhere else. At the first sign of trouble, they would be able to escape her. You never need to worry about Mary Lou being able to hurt me."

"But that day," Credence insisted, trying to put aside the idea that Iliana could do such a thing for a moment or they'd never get past it. "She grabbed you and dragged you over the banister."

Iliana sighed. "We're not supposed to do magic in front of non-magical people. It's not legal. I couldn't do anything in the middle of Central Park without causing a scene and getting in quite a bit of trouble. But if it was really a life-and-death situation, that would be different. We're allowed to act in our own defense."

Credence nodded slowly, because that made sense. Witches weren't real, that's why everyone looked down their noses at his Ma when she gave her speeches. And yet he was sitting next to one, so they were obviously underground, and they couldn't do that if someone was... was turning people into frogs or cursing their enemies left and right. But… well, even regular folks were allowed to do things they weren't normally supposed to do if they were being attacked. So it made sense that magical folks would have the same allowances.

"What about... about kids?" Credence asked, because that was important. Iliana was an adult, she knew things, she was smart. But a little magical kid - he imagined this kid having blonde braids and blue eyes like Modesty - they might not be able to do that Disapparation thing that Iliana talked about. They were just kids, after all, they couldn't be expected to take care of themselves. That was why kids had parents - why _most_ kids had parents.

But Iliana smiled, and Creedence twitched as her thumb began to move under his palm, stroking soothing sweeps along his jacket. He wished he wasn't wearing the thick fabric so he could feel it better, but his hand still rested on top of her glove and even this was heaven.

"It's called accidental magic," Iliana explained. "Children who aren't trained can still pull of amazing feats of magic, particularly is they're angry or scared. When I was little, I used to make fireballs over my crib and watch the lights. It terrified my sister the first time she saw it." Iliana chuckled, remembering how put-out Elvira had seemed when she'd told that particular story. Especially when she'd reacted instinctively and tried to douse the whole crib, only for the fireballs to burn all the brighter and flash colors when baby Iliana had wailed in protest at being soaked.

"Even babies can do it sometimes," Iliana continued to assure him. "It's not uncommon for magical children summoning toys or food to be one of the first signs of magic."

"First signs..." Credence said slowly. "So you don't... don't know if kids are magical? There's not some... some spell?"

Talking like this, thinking like this... it spun Credence's head. He was using words Ma would have washed his mouth out with soap for using in front of her and he was treating them like they were just words. He wasn't even sure he'd really believed in magic, not the way that Iliana talked about it - so matter-of-factly, like it was normal. Nothing about it was normal, not to him, not to Ma, certainly not to the general public. Magic was the territory of men in top hats with silk-lined capes, not angelic lounge singers.

Credence's mind flashed back to the stuffed toy in the window, the one Ma had burned and beaten him for stealing. That had just appeared in his arms, just like Iliana had said was common in kids. If that was one of the first signs of magic... That sort of thing had happened to him, and not just with the toy. Ma had beaten it out of him long ago and he'd thought he'd lost whatever it was that made him like that. He'd been delighted, because Ma had told him over and over until it had to be true that doing those things was evil and he was evil and he was going to hell. Doing them had caused him pain at Ma's hands - he'd been glad when they stopped, because it meant punishments for those strange things stopped.

"It's predictable in some ways," Iliana hedged. "There are... People born to a long line of magical parents are called purebloods. A person born to a magical and non-magical parent is called a halfblood. But there are situations where a magical child is born to No-Maj parents. They're called No-Maj-born. In this country, at least. And there are very rare cases when magical parents have a non-magical child. They're called Squibs. It's almost certain a magical parents will have a magical child. It's just a question of when that power will manifest. Some take earlier or powerful signs as an indicator that their child will be exceptionally powerful - things like levitating, like transfiguring things or making them appear - but that's all old wives' tales and nonsense."

He remained silent and Iliana leaned in.

"Have things like that ever happened to you, Credence?" she asked softly, and Credence twitched again.

"Can you read my mind?" he asked faintly, because it was apparently a perfectly reasonable assumption to make in her world. His world... Their world?

Iliana chuckled and shifted. She moved to sit on the side of her hip, her knees stacked and folded under Credence's bent legs. She pressed closer. She'd noticed long ago that he seemed to draw comfort from touch as much as he seemed to fear it. Sometimes he'd tried to avoid it for fear of setting him off, but now she suspected he was going to need all of the comfort he could get when it came to the next part of their conversation.

"No, I'm not a Legilimens," Iliana replied, and continued on, drawn by a random trail of thought, "although studies have shown that veela show a great proficiency for the mind arts and it's something I've considered experimenting with but never got around... to..." Iliana trailed off, because that wasn't what she was here to talk about and Credence had tensed up again and was looking at her fearfully and she needed to get back on topic. "Even if I could, you'd know if I was doing it," she assured him. "It's not a subtle thing. But have things like that ever happened to you Credence?"

Credence licked his lips. He'd never told anyone these things. Not Chastity. Not Modesty. He certainly never brought them up to Ma, and he's never had anyone but his family to talk to about anything. It seemed strange now, to speak about the things that had made him feel such shame and brought him such pain, but Iliana had asked and so he would answer.

"I wanted a stuffed animal I saw in the window of a toy store once," Credence whispered. "I was very young - maybe five? - and then it was in my arms. Once I... I got a set of crayons. And I loved them, I'd never been able to have anything like that before. And I was so scared I'd use them up but... they never got smaller. I gave them to Modesty, when she came along. She still uses them." Credence smiled faintly, remembering how on Modesty's sixth birthday - or the anniversary of the day she arrived home with Ma, rather - he'd slid her the box secretly. She'd absolutely glowed and Credence had felt so proud that he'd been able to make her happy.

"Thank you for telling me that, Credence," Iliana said, and she knew that pushing it further today might be too much for him. He was shaking slightly under her hand. Already she'd given him a lot of information, a lot to think about, so for now she just shifted, laying her head on his shoulder, and sat with him. Her thumb never stopped stroking his arm.

* * *

It wasn't a blaring Klaxxon - Elvira couldn't handle that kind of noise since the war - but it had the same effect. A breach in the wards sent a bolt of electricity down her spine. Elvira grunted as it happened but moved quickly. From her pocket she drew a small switchblade and flicked it out. A slice along her thumb drew a red line in its wake and as the blood welled and dripped, Elvira turned and pressed her hand to the mirror behind her. It flashed red as the barriers keeping people out slammed down around the Cactus Cat and whatever group had just appeared outside was trapped there.

Alfred, who was, as ever, seated at the bar not far from Elvira, turned and raised his wand. It let out a series of bangs and flashes that drew all eyes to him. Iliana stopped her singing and swaying and raised an eyebrow in Elvira's direction, taking in the smear of blood on the mirror behind her and the glow of her finger as she traced it up the cut, healing it. She nodded in understanding.

"Everybody, seems MACUSA's decided they hadn't dropped by in a while," Elvira called to the room, drawing laughs from some of her clients. Many of the regulars had been there for more than a few of the Auror raids. The dirty dealings that went on there were an open secret and the Auror Department had been trying for years to bust the place, but Elvira had never allowed it. Usually, it ended up being an exercise in amusement for those who weren't wanted by the Aurors.

"If you've got cause to not want to see those fedora-wearing glory-hounds," she continued, grinning widely, "then I suggest you vacate the premises. Otherwise, everybody else gets the traditional apology for any inconvenience."

"I'll take mine in advance, Ellie!" called a wizard she knew to be a werewolf from the back. Elvira waved her hand, snapping the drying rag she'd held through the air sharply.

"You get on out of here Jefferson, before you get me in trouble!"

"Alright, alright," the man chuckled before joining the cue of people heading for either the Floo or the back room where there was a small rug. It looked completely innocent, but the space that rug occupied was the only place in the Cactus Cat where people could Apparate in or out, and only trusted clients knew that.

There were a few minutes of ruckus while people who needed to be gone headed out and Elvira waved her hands, summoning their drinks and vanishing them, pushing in their chairs, and wiping away any still-smoking cigarettes and cigars from the ashtrays. Within five minutes the occupancy of the bar had been slashed and all evidence that anyone else had been there vanished. Alfred helpfully flicked his wand, vanishing the blood from the mirror, and Elvira nodded to him thankfully. Iliana waved her wand and the magical instruments behind her began to play. She picked up in the middle of the song she'd been singing. Elvira raised her hand and snapped, a sound that echoed strangely through the bar.

Not a second later, the door slammed open and Aurors poured in, wands drawn and harried expressions on their faces. Elvira smirked, having no doubt that they'd spent their time locked out trying frantically to barrage their way through her wards only to come up empty.

"Ah, Carneirus!" Elvira greeted cheerfully as the captain strode in, all bristling moustache and flabby cheeks. She nodded to and greeted a few more of the Aurors by name. "What brings you all by? If it's for Sprink Drink night, that's not until next week."

"Cut the hogwash, Blodgarmr, you know why we're here," Carneirus said sharply, swaggering his way up to the bar and placing an elbow on it. He leaned in confidently. "We received word that a known werewolf was spotted coming in here earlier tonight. I don't suppose you've seen Jefferson Bardou this evening?"

"I don't know that I know a Jefferson Bardou," Elvira said with wide-eyed innocence that was undermined by her face-splitting grin. She peered around at all of the Aurors questioningly. "Maybe if you had a photograph...?"

"You know what Jefferson Bardou looks like," Carneirus huffed. "He's a known associate of yours!"

Elvira tilted her head and feigned confusion. "How's he a known associate of mine if I've never known him?"

There was a sharp _ba dum tss_ from the drum set behind Iliana, who covered her mouth with a hand to hide her laughter and quickly waved her fingers at the instruments, killing the spell keeping them animated.

"Spread out and interview everyone here!" Carneirus barked to the Aurors behind him. They snapped to, pulling out quills and notepads and approaching tables of patrons.

"If you're going to stay a while, have a round on me!" Elvira called, and waved her wand through the air in a series of sweeps. Bottles of elf-made wine lifted off the shelf behind her and poured glass after glass of the stuff. They settled onto trays that soared off through the Aurors. Carneirus gave her a filthy look and refused to take the glass that stopped near him, but the other Aurors were quite happy to take the offering, especially considering Elvira always gave them a glass of the good stuff when they stopped by the raid her bar. She was nothing if not a polite hostess.

"So, where's Goldstein?" Elvira asked curiously, noting the absence of one of the Aurors who usually came in with the raids and gave her wary or suspicious looks on a semi-regular basis.

Carneirus blinked, and for a moment the bluster faltered and they were talking like old friends as he shook his head sympathetically. "Wand Registry. Two months ago. Shame, but she never should have messed with that Barebone woman, no matter what she was doing to her children. That's No-Maj law, for No-Maj police."

At his side, Alfred winced in sympathy. He lifted his glass aloft and swirl the last half-centimeter of liquid in the bottom. "Tina Goldstein!" he said, and crossed himself before downing the last of it and slamming his glass down on the counter.

"Shame," Elvira murmured, and was surprised to find that she actually meant it. While she wasn't exactly fond of Tine Goldstein in the same way that she wasn't fond of any Aurors, it wouldn't be the same to have Carneirus storming in here every other month without her at his heels.

* * *

 _Elvira_

 _You've posed quite a few difficult questions in your letter, though I don't think you realize it. I don't hold it against you, but please understand when I say that my departure from Hogwarts, while nontraditional, is nothing I am ashamed of. Like with you arrest, it's not something I would much like to talk about over owl post. Maybe when we're actually together we can talk about all the deeper things we've been skating around these past months, but not now._

 _Your comment about a potential Obscurial in New York is concerning. I read the press clipping you sent me and you're right, it lines up. The patterns of destruction, the giant black, smoky mass. It could be a duel gone wrong, and I think it's foolish to get too concerned before there's more information available. Perhaps it's just because of what we're involved in now - we're seeing Obscurials where there aren't any. If it turns out to be true, don't worry though! I shall hopefully soon be on my way to you in New York City, and with a successful version of the Ramirez ritual ready for use!_

 _I too miss the days when it was all thunderbirds and teaching each other about our respective schools. They were lighter times. Hopefully soon we'll be back to that._

 _My friend in Istanbul has come through. I received my order of ingredients yesterday. I have to wait another two days to begin brewing to align the process with the phases of the moon, but thus far everything is progressing well. I hope the rest of the process goes this smoothly, though I confess there's a feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's hard to put a name to it, but if I were a dramatic sort of person, I'd say it was a feeling of doom, like this is fated to fail._

 _On yet another serious note, though I suppose in a different sort of way, thank you for your understanding about my idiosyncrasies. As I said in my last letter, I've never had the gift of making friends easily. That I've been able to become so close to you even though we've never met is a gift, especially now. I find myself hoping for a letter from you every day or wishing I had your response the moment I send off a new letter even though I know it's not practical. There have been times through all of this where I swear our correspondence has kept me sane._

 _Looking forward to success and a trip to the colonies._

 _Newt_

Elvira sat back and stared at the letter, a blush on her cheeks. There was something in the tone of the last paragraph of Newt's letter that she liked very much, something that spoke to a closeness between them that she'd been afraid to presume for fear of overstepping and making things awkward between them. It would be too easy for Newt to simply stop responding to her letters if she put him off, and she was starting to feel a pit in her stomach at the very thought. Letters from Newt were a highlight these days, and losing them didn't bear thought.

"You're the color of a tomato."

Elvira looked up. She supposed it was on her, for choosing to read the letter the minute she got into the apartment, flopping down on the couch and holding it above her face. And Iliana wasn't wrong, that was for sure.

"Letter from Newt," Elvira admitted, rolling off the couch and straightening. She winced and nearly toppled, hastily grabbing her cane to keep herself upright.

Iliana tilted her head, observing her with curiously knowledgeable eye. "You've got a thing for him."

"I've never met him," Elvira countered as she had the last time Iliana brought this up.

It was getting harder and harder to deny though, especially when he wrote her things like the paragraph that had set her blushing in the first place. That was part of it. Nothing this... well, romantic happened, not to her. She was barkeep, neighborhood watch, enforcer, not a lover or the apple of someone's eye. Being in charge, the one people came to when things went wrong, the one who set things straight again, that was what she was comfortable with.

"How would you know anyway?" Elvira grunted uncharitably. "It's not like you've ever had a beau." It was harsh and she regretted it the minute she said it, but that was instantly wasn't away by the fact that now _Iliana_ was the one blushing. "Annie?" Elvira asked faintly.

Iliana huffed and stuck her nose in the air. "I'm off to bed, since you're in such a foul mood. Have a good night."

* * *

 _Newt_

 _There was another raid on my place tonight. Maybe if we're lucky, there will be one while you're here so you can see what happens. I lower the wards and we all listen to the Aurors try - unsuccessfully - to break through them while everyone who isn't on entirely friendly terms with the law gets themselves out. Then I let the Aurors in, we bandy words for a while, they tell me whatever nonsense they've made up to justify the raid, and I serve the Aurors a glass of expensive elf-made wine while they interview my patrons. It's all great fun, if one ignores the fact that half the bastards who have to leave duck out on their bills and my books are off for days until they come back and settle up._

 _Then again, maybe it's better if you're not there, given how much you get up to, Mr. Scamander. I'd hate to see you get hauled off on my account. Then again, they'd probably haul me off too. Maybe we could share a cell? That'd be cozy, wouldn't it?_

 _I wasn't certain what sort of ingredients you had access to over there, so I sent along what I could of what I had in stock. I'm a decent enough brewer, but it's never been my strong suit, so my stores are never what they should be when I actually sit down to make something. Thankfully a friend and patron of mine is one of the best illegal brewers in the city, so I was able to get most of what I sent you from him. Alfie is an absolute master with potions - literally. Well, sort of. He attained his Potions Mastery, but the rank was stripped from him after the first time he was busted selling Veritaserum on the black market. Still, the fact that he had mastery at all, however briefly, says a lot I believe._

 _I'm not good with potions, but my wards are something else, Newt, and yes, I know I'm bragging, but my wards are worth bragging about. I don't know how you feel about the subject - most people are touchy and consider it on the very edge of Dark magic - but I'm a dab hand at blood magic. It's really not as bad as people think - a drop of blood here and there, a quick healing spell, and everything right as rain and your magic is probably twice as strong as it was before._

 _I know you must be busy with the Ramirez ritual, so I'll keep this short and sweet, and don't feel like you have to write me back if you haven't got the time. You focus on your poor Obscurial, I can wait. Just promise you'll tell me how things go with her._

 _As always, good luck._

 _Elvira_

Newt sat back, biting his lip. Blood magic was... grey. Most people considered it entirely dark and, frankly, the idea made Newt a bit uncomfortable as well. He wasn't squeamish by any means, but the idea of drawing power from pain and the sacrifice of life, albeit more metaphorical, didn't sit well with him. The idea of Elvira doing such a thing brought to mind a flash of an old anti-Dark magic poster he'd seen in History of Magic, Elvira took the place of the witch who was holding a dagger over and innocent and terrified-looking fluffy rabbit, a wicked grin on her face.

But Newt was also very certain that the woman who'd been helping him patch up thunderbirds and Obscurials wasn't the sort of woman to sacrifice rabbits to strengthen spells. He supposed, the more he thought about it, he could say that Potions was a Dark topic because it required animal parts, if one was going to use that logic. The idea of Elvira doing blood magic was one that would take some time to settle, but already he could feel a curiosity growing - he'd never met anyone who actually practiced blood magic, and he had questions. Several thousand, in fact, but they would have to wait...

Newt glanced at the bubbling cauldron, willing time to go faster. Three days and the potion would be ready and the moon would be in the right position for the ritual. Three days, and he'd have his answer on whether or not the ritual would work. Three days, and he'd find out whether he was going to be meeting Elvira in triumph or defeat.


	10. Chapter 10

Iliana wasn't at all delighted by what she was doing, but she was also fairly certain that she didn't have another option. Or at least, that she didn't have a better one. Elvira was fairly well-versed in magical law after flouting it successfully for most of her life, but there was a difference between criminal laws and civil ones. Iliana knew that, which was why, at approximately ten o'clock in the morning on a crisp fall Tuesday, she was standing out in front of the Woolworth Building.

She took a deep breath, drew the fur-lined collar of her coat tighter around her jaw, and darted across the street, dodging cars skillfully. Her heels clicked on the steps as she strode up, not to the main doors, but off to the side, where a bored-looking guard in a red uniform was waiting next to a door topped with an owl. Iliana approached, nodded to him, and he merely flicked his wand subtly at the owl as she stepped into the fast-spinning revolving door.

It took her a moment to gather herself, as her eyes told her she should be stepping right into path of a man carrying an expensive-looking leather briefcase in the lobby. Instead, she stood easily in a room with a ceiling that was nearly 700 feet high. Iliana bit her lips, staring at the monument to the Salem Witch Trials. She felt deeply uncomfortable, like she didn't belong here. All the other witches and wizards moving about were just that, witches and wizards, with nothing extra thrown in. Everywhere she looked, she could see magical creatures with being status - much like vela - being used as servants. The house elves manning the wand-polishing and shoe-shining benches, the goblins working as bellboys on the elevators. None of them were doing anything above menial, mind-numbing labor and Iliana felt a surge of sympathy for them - also a frission of fear, because that was what she had very nearly been consigned to after being denied entry to Ilvermorny on the basis that it was unfair to the other students to expect them to attend lessons with a half-human.

Iliana hustled across the large, arched bridge across the gap in the center of the room towards the bank of elevators, drawing her coat tighter around her throat once more, although this time it wasn't against the cold. She stepped into the elevator where a goblin with a long stick to press the higher buttons looked up at her, a dark look on his brow.

"Wand Registry, please," Iliana said softly, and the goblin pressed the button with a huff. The doors closed and Iliana let out a breath, feeling oddly safer in the small, enclosed space.

She didn't get along _well_ with any of the Aurors, but the one she got along with best was probably Tine Goldstein. The woman had always seemed just a little less judgmental towards Iliana compared to some of the others. She was a safe choice too, given that she was technically no longer an Auror and had apparently been flung from the department in disgrace - that was the only way anyone ended up in Wand Registry. Goldstein was Iliana's best option for getting the answers she needed.

It was easy to see why Wand Registry was considered a punishment as she stepped off of the elevator and looked in the direction of the arrow on the sign on the wall in front of her. It pointed to a low-ceilinged section of the building with lines and lines of desks that seemed to all be spilling paper onto the floor from overflowing trash cans and filing cabinets. It was poorly-lit and oddly cold, and Iliana shuddered at the idea of ending up in a place like this, especially coming from an exciting department like the Aurors.

Tina Goldstein wasn't hard to find - Iliana recognized her easily, her desk towards the back of the Wand Registry department and looking the relatively neatest of any of them. Several others looked up at her with glazed eyes as she passed before turning back to their work like they hadn't even registered consciously that she was there. Iliana wondered if half the department was under the Imperius - she'd never seen so many slack faces.

Her clicking heels announced her and by the time she reached Tina's desk, the ex-Auror was already staring at her incredulously, recognizing her white-blonde hair and luxurious clothes easily.

"Velikova?" Tina demanded incredulously, keeping her voice low. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to see you," Iliana explained, perching on the edge of the desk and looking around nervously for prying eyes. Not a single person moved for anything other that to shuffle papers or scrawl something on a form. "I have a legal question."

Tina narrowed her eyes. "It's a little suspicious to hear that, coming from someone who's half-Blödgarmr."

Iliana's hands clenched, the leather of her gloves squeaking slightly as her eyes narrowed. It wasn't often she felt the need to get nasty with someone, but the Aurors did tend to bring it out in both her and her sister. Besides, she wasn't here about herself. She was here about someone important to her, and she wanted to get in and get out fast, without trading barbs with a smart-mouthed ex-Auror, no matter whether or not said ex-Auror was almost tolerable most of the time.

"The convenient thing for me is that if you tell anyone, no one will care what a Wand Registry witch has to say," Iliana shot back bitterly. "I just need a question answered and I'll be out of your hair, Goldstein. I can assure you, I like being in MACUSA even less than you like having me here."

Tane sat back in her chair, twiddling a cheap pheasant feather quill between her fingers. she observed Iliana carefully for a moment before her features softened slightly. "Fine," she allowed. "What's your question?"

"I have a hypothetical situation," Iliana began, and Tina snorted.

"I'm sure it's entirely hypothetical."

Iliana narrowed her eyes, but continued. "What if a magical person had been raised by No-Majs for the majority of their life? Would there be any legal way to have them removed if the No-Maj household was abusive?"

Tina sat forward, observing Iliana carefully. "Who do you know that's magical who has been raised by No-Majs?"

"It's purely hypothetical," Iliana reminded her saccharinely, "if you'll recall."

Again Tina scoffed. "Well, something like that wouldn't happen."

"And why's that?"

"Ilvermorny has a record book that notes down the birth of every magical child in the country, even the No-Maj-borns. If there was such a child, there would be a record and they would have been taken to Ilvermorny, where the abuse would have been discovered and the child would have been removed and made a ward of the magical state," Tina recited, sounding like she'd swallowed a law book.

"But say it did happen," Iliana insisted, and Tina shook her head.

"It couldn't, that's what I'm telling you. Ilvermorny's book has been around since the school was founded. Isolde Sayre herself enchanted it. It doesn't make mistakes. Besides, MACUSA could only get involved up until the child was a legal adult at 18. How old is your hypothetical child?" Tina challenged.

Internally swearing, Iliana was forced to admit, "Older than that. But just say that..."

"It. Couldn't. Happen," Tina gently insisted. "The only _possible_ way would be if a magical child immigrated to this country, in which case they would have had to go through the proper channels with MACUSA and we would have given the name to Ilvermorny and added it to our own records of magical citizens."

"And if someone snuck into the country with a child?" Iliana continued to challenge.

Tina huffed. "I suppose in the event that a staggering group of slip-ups and coincidences happened then yes, it's _theoretically_ possible. But it's all moot anyway, because MACUSA rarely intervenes in domestic affairs, and even then, only when the child in question is still a child. You said your hypothetical friend is of age. That means there's really only one thing that can be done."

"Which is?" Iliana asked eagerly.

"He can _leave_ ," Tina said firmly. "If he's an adult, then he can leave the situation he is in and find a better place to live."

"With what money?" Iliana demanded angrily. "You're saying that he has to choose between living penniless on the street or being beaten to within an inch of his life every few days, and those are his options?"

Tina threw up her hands. "I didn't say there were good options, Velikova. At this point, your friend has aged out of any protection MACUSA could offer, so it's up to him to get into a better situation. Take up a collection, maybe, or help him find a job," Tina suggested.

Iliana eyed her coldly. "Yes, because it's so easy for those of us who never graduated from Ilvermorny to find work in the magical world."

She turned away from the desk, ignoring Tina's calls for her to come back, hands fisted at her side. So MACUSA's hands were tied, were they? Well, Iliana's weren't and it would hardly be the first time she did something legally ambiguous for the right reasons, and there had never been a better reason in her mind than to get Credence away from Mary Lou Barebone, away from the situation he was trapped in, just away from everything. He didn't deserve that, _no one_ deserved that, and once he was out form under that wretched woman's thumb the pair of them would be free to...

Iliana froze. To _what?_ What did she have planned after that? Because apparently while she had little to no details for this plan, she had already decided that his life in the future was going to involve her somehow if he would allow it. How could she not? He was one of the sweetest, gentlest souls she'd ever met, and it was a crime against nature that someone like him had to go through what he did. She wanted to protect him, wanted fiercely to be the one to guide him into the magical world properly - well, as properly as she was able - and show him the wonder it held. She wanted... to be next to him. For an as-yet undetermined but definitely lengthy amount of time.

Iliana paled. Oh my.

"Are you getting on are you just gonna stare at the wall like it killed your toad?" barked the goblin bellboy. Iliana hastened onto the elevator.

"Going up," she said weakly, although she felt very certain it was exactly the opposite.

* * *

 _Elvira,_

 _It didn't work. I don't know what happened. I don't know what to write. I don't know anything._

 _I'm coming via Savannah, Georgia. Should arrive in approximately two weeks. Will come to the Cactus Cat to meet you, if you're still amenable._

 _Newt_

Elvira stared at the page in horror, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was hands down the shortest and least personal letter she'd ever received from him, and no wonder. For weeks now their letters had centered on their mutual goal of helping the poor Obscurial girl and saving her from the inevitable death that loomed over her. And yet for all their planning and scrambling for ingredients and conferred back and forth, the girl had died and if Elvira felt this wretched for having failed, she could only imagine how Newt was feeling.

He had hinted more than once that he wasn't a people person and that he was far more comfortable with his animals than he was with people. Already he'd gone out on a limb to try and help this girl and her family, spent weeks and weeks trying first to slow the degradation caused by the Obscurus, and then halt it entirely. Now he was faced with having to tell them that it had all been for nothing and that their daughter was gone despite all their efforts.

Elvira wished that she could be there for him and in that moment she absolutely hated MACUSA and their ban on travelling. Taking into consideration the time it would take to navigate the red tape, if she were a free witch she could have been in Sudan by tomorrow night and at Newt's side consoling him. She could have held his hand and rubbed his back as he cried - and she knew he could cry, he was a gentle soul like that - and she would offer up as many platitudes as they could both stomach. Perhaps she'd bring another bottle of Spike's reserve along with her and they'd get pissed drunk to drown their sorrows.

But she couldn't do any of that, because as much as she wanted to, she couldn't be with Newt right now. He was on his own in a foreign country to deal with this gut-wrenching loss. That poor family... Elvira wasn't sure who she felt more sorry for, though she knew who she most wanted to comfort. Being by someone's side in troubled times was never a fun experience, she knew that well, but it was a necessary thing and she wanted nothing more than to offer Newt a helping hand, a shoulder to cry on, whatever he needed.

But all she could offer, Elvira thought bitterly as she reached for a bit of parchment, were a few scrawled words. But then her eyes caught sight of something else among her stationary and she thought better.

* * *

Newt stared at the letter in his hand. It had arrived before he'd left the village... sort of. Someone had to run after him to catch him and hand it off, but he'd at least managed to get a hold of it. He'd felt a woosh of relief when he saw it was from Elvira - he needed her words right then - until his somewhat numbed brain finally registered exactly what he was holding. The blood-red envelope was familiar. She'd sent him one before, and Newt doubted that this one would be so friendly.

He'd hit it with a Stasis charm to keep it from exploding before he got around to it and shoved it into the pocket of his blue overcoat with a sick feeling of dread. Elvira had done everything she could, had worked on the problem from the other side of the world, had offered up very personal information about herself, and even sent along a very expensive bundle of potions ingredients to make it possible for him to help the Obscurial. But in the end he had stuffed it up despite her going far and away beyond what anyone could have asked of her, and a young girl had died. He'd put that weight on her conscience as well, and now she was writing to tell him to sod off - oh, and she'd do it in some charmingly colloquial way, too, he just knew it - and not bother coming anywhere near her bar when he finally hauled his sorry carcass to New York.

Newt knew he couldn't avoid the letter forever, but that didn't stop him from putting it off until he was alone in his cabin on the ship sailing to Savannah, muffling charms scattered everywhere to contain what would no doubt be a deafening tongue-lashing, and not even close to emotionally ready to hear what she had to say but with no better reason to put it off.

Newt sat on the edge of his bed, the Howler resting on the rocking floor of the ship in front of him. He took a deep breath and flicked his wand, lifting the Stasis charm. As he'd expected, the Howler rose up into the air, the letter itself shredding into teeth and that familiar red envelope wrinkling into a pair of full lips. Newt cringed and braced for impact as the mouth began to move.

 _"Hey, English."_

Newt flinched badly, not even remotely prepare for not only a soft, sad tone, but what seemed to be a nickname was well. Jaw dropping open, Newt pressed his hands to his knees and leaned forwards, staring at the envelope in disbelief as Elvira's voice continued.

 _"Writing all this out... well, it didn't seem right. I'll have you know that if circumstances were different I'd have run right to the travel offices and hopped the first Portkey to Africa. I even considered making one myself, if my leaving the perimeter of the city wouldn't have set up alarm bells in Auror offices all over the country. You shouldn't have to deal with this all alone, but you do, which is absolute shit but that's why I thought a Howler might be a little more personal, a little better... of course, I didn't take into account my tendency to ramble, but here we are."_

Newt gave a small, hiccupping laugh and felt something in his chest tighten. The mere idea that Elvira had been completely ready to hie off to another continent just to support him was absolutely mind boggling. He couldn't think of another time in his life someone had been willing to do such a thing, although he could think of a Slytherin he'd once been willing to do something like that for. He could only imagine what it would have been like to see Elvira striding into their little quarantined village-outside-the-village with no warning.

The tone of her voice was just as affecting - he could hear the weary sadness and the forced energy. Newt had spent more than a few hours pouring over some of her letters, wondering just quite what intent she'd put behind this or that sentence and if he was reading too far into it, or perhaps not enough. It was those times that had compelled him to apologize for his lack of people skills -s he had no doubt that his brother Thaddeus would have been able to interpret her words with ease while he sat and strained, thinking perhaps he was reading something wrong, fighting the ingrained instinct to believe there was something a bit more ridiculing hidden in her kind words, because many times in the past there had been.

 _"I'm not happy that girl died, of course not. I wish it had gone different but Newt, you've gotta know... it wasn't your fault. The ritual I gave you was untested - it wasn't even finished for Christ's sake! - and it was no guarantee. You tried your damnedest but sometimes, despite what parents tell their children, that's just not enough and that ain't your fault. You did far and away more than anyone else would have done. You saw it in your research and you heard it from me - most people would've come in there and started cursin', no questions asked, but you? Damn, Newt, you planted yourself right there and reached out to anybody and everybody you could think of to help you fix the problem and save that poor girl. Whether old lady Ramirez had it right or not, you're a hero in my book, Scamander."_

Newt made a watery noise of surprise. Her pep talk was like nothing he'd ever heard, gruff and peppered with swearing, but it sounded just like her and he had to admit that she was right, it wouldn't have made nearly the same impression written out in ink as it did to listen to it and hear as her voice got thicker and thicker with her own feelings. Newt tried to imagine her, sitting on that couch in her living room and dictating to the Howler with her wand at her throat, face determinedly stony.

Of all he'd expected to hear, though, it wasn't that he was a hero. He hadn't done anything special. That girl needed help and he had the contacts and a little bit of know how and there was a chance he could help. What sort of person wouldn't have stopped to try and help? It was hardly the girl's fault that she was what she was. That was one of the very few things people knew for certain about Obscurials; they were products of their environment, not the result of anything that they themselves did. Who would bring something like that on themselves?

He gave another watery laugh as Elvira's voice gave a sniffle and muttered irritably under her breath, _"Ah, shit."_ He could picture that too, a tear escaping and her immediately moving to destroy all the evidence it happened.

There was another sniffle, a clearing of her throat, and then she continued. _"And as for me 'being amenable,'"_ she sounded almost annoyed now, " _you best your best teacup I'm amenable. I know that maybe it isn't the best time, and of course I would have preferred if you turned up and told me how everything had gone perfectly, but I still expect you to turn up. If I find out you came to New York and didn't come to see me, I'll be pissed, English, and MACUSA or no MACUSA I will find a way to hunt you down and yell at you about it. We were writing back and forth before all this got started, and I like to think we'll keep writing even after you come see me."_

She sounded oddly unsure at that last, and Newt felt a surge of empathy. He knew just how she felt, and he was actually shocked hat they felt the same. He knew all too well what it felt like to underwhelm someone. People heard that he was a skilled handler of magical beasts and expected some sort of grizzled behemoth, they were always let down to see a skinny ginger in a bowtie. He was used to letting people down at first and he had to remind himself that from what she'd said, she was used to a similar reception. She was just as hesitant about what would happen when they finally met face-to-face as he was. It didn't make sense, because in his mind she was a take-no-prisoners, roguish sort of woman who did what was right and damn the consequences - a Gryffindor if he'd ever met one. The image of her in his head wasn't scared of anything, and Newt had to admit that he'd perhaps built up some unfair expectations of her.

The Howler let out a quiet sigh. _"I hope you know that it's the same for you and that girl as it was with me and the Crane boy. I don't love that she ended up dead, but I would never blame you for it. All I want right now is for you to come strolling into the Cactus Cat, rain or shine. I have to keep reminding myself you're still weeks out. I'm excited... and damned if I don't sound like some sort of giddy little schoolgirl."_

She gave an annoyed grunt. _"I'll see you soon, English. Signed, Elvira."_


	11. Chapter 11

There was blood and it was hard to breathe. Credence wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but he did know that when he returned to consciousness he was in a pool of the stuff and there was a worrisome hitch in his chest. He'd broken a rib when he'd toppled to the ground, and that would be agony for days. It wasn't just his hands that were bleeding from cuts, but his nose and mouth as well. He was confident his nose was broken, and he was pretty sure that his lip was split as well.

Stranger still, he felt utterly exhausted. Taking a beating drained his energy, but not like this. This felt like... it took him a moment to place the bone-deep weariness that had washed over him. It was like when he'd woken the morning after seeing Iliana in the park. He'd woken in his own bed, not quite recalling how he'd ended up there, and felt like he'd walked the length of Long Island in a night. He'd barely been able to muster the energy to roll out of bed and dress, and it was only the threat of Ma coming to wake him that had gotten him to his feet at all.

Credence wondered dreamily what it would be like to sleep in - just once. He wondered if he could even do it, he was so pathologically terrified of oversleeping and angering Ma.

He pushed the foggy-brained thoughts from his mind and slipped his hand into his pocket. He needed help, and he knew it was late, but he also knew that she would be able to fix him up better than anyone else could and maybe she wouldn't even be mad at him for bothering her so late it was early.

Credence's hands felt oddly numb and he winced as his blood stained the slip of paper, but he had to check. Iliana was home, according to the little magical note she'd left him. It would normally take him only fifteen minutes to walk there, but now it would be nearly double that, if not more. He couldn't move to quickly, both because he was wary of jostling his ribs and because, when he hauled himself to his feet, his right ankle throbbed. He recalled dimly Chastity stepping on it and grinding her heel in maliciously as she steered Modesty from the room after he hit the ground.

In the end, Credence wasn't even sure how he managed to make it, swaying like a drunk down the sidewalk covered in his own blood. If he thought about it, that was probably why he'd made it. No one was going to mess with a person in that state, either to help them or hinder them. They had probably assumed he'd gotten in a bar fight and been flung out into the night, when the reality was so much worse.

Credence sniffled - the cold night air had set his nose bleeding again - and raised his sleeve to his nose to make sure he didn't drip blood on the floor in front of their door. He raised his hand and knocked. A dog barking sounded inside and he winced - right, he remembered that Iliana had a dog - and the sound of faint scratching could be heard against the wood. There was a bang and a swearing sound and then the door was wrenched open, and not by Iliana.

It took Credence a moment to remember her. He'd seen her only once before, at Bethesda Terrace, and she'd seemed a larger-than-life figure then in boots and a hat. Now her brown hair was in a loose braid, there were spectacles perched crookedly on her nose in front of bleary eyes, and she was leaning heavily on her cane as her nightgown swirled around her ankles. She glared at him viciously.

"I don't know who the hell you are," she growled, "or how the hell you got into that state, but you've got ten seconds to... to..." Her expression cleared and was replaced with one of abject shock, mouth dropping open. Credence wished he could melt into the floor as she whispered, "You're the Barebone boy."

"Credence?"

It was Iliana's voice, soft and sleepy, and she appeared in the doorway, ducking around her sister. She took one look at him, paled, and stepped back. Her sister stumbled away to avoid being run over as Iliana beckoned him inside swiftly.

"Deliverance Dane, what did she do to you?" Iliana asked worriedly, blue eyes shining in concern. "Come in, Credence, come in, please..."

"Annie?" her sister asked, voice strained, and Credence looked between the two of them fearfully. Her sister - Elvira, he finally remembered her name was - seemed completely shocked to see him there. She hadn't known that they were still in contact, apparently, and Credence was terrified he'd just somehow done something to get her in trouble.

"I-I can... Shouldn't have bothered you..." He babbled, stepping back. His ankle throbbed and his knee gave, making him topple back. He smacked into the wall behind him and groaned as stars flickered in his vision, his whole body seeming to give one huge concerted throb at the rough treatment after all the abuse it had already suffered.

"Broken ribs," Elvira said, and clucked her tongue. Credence felt strong but gentle hands on his shoulders, guiding him through the door. He wasn't sure which of the sisters it was as his head swam, but he was settled onto the couch, dimly realizing a drop cloth had been thrown under him to keep him from ruining the fabric.

 _"Iliana!_ " Elvira hissed, and Credence blinked in surprise as light suddenly filled the room. The fireplace lit, the lamps flicked on. He hadn't seen it, but he remembered how Iliana had waved her hand and made things happen. He imagined that was what she'd just done.

"Breathe, Ellie, he already knows."

" _He already-?"_ Her sister's voice had gone high and furious... and also a little scared. Credence was good at identifying fear, having become so well acquainted with it over the course of his life. She moved in front of him and Credence felt the couch dip at his side. He turned his head slowly and saw Iliana sitting there. She picked up his hand and held it carefully between both of hers, wary of reopening the cuts there, and continued to stare at him with that affected look in her eyes. She smiled as he made eye contact with her and glanced at her sister pleadingly.

"Please, you've better at it than I am."

Elvira towered over the pair of them sitting on the couch - she was so tall - and Credence wished he hadn't come as she stared him down like she was judging him for damnation or salvation, jaw working as she chewed the inside of her cheek. Her eyes scanned him from his ruffled hair - he'd forgotten his hat, he realized dimly - to the scuffed toes of his shoes. She nodded firmly once and said, "Alright, you explain while I work. And make it good."

She made a move like she was going to sit on midair, but a small ottoman slid across the floor and caught her before she could hit the ground. A bouncing ball of fur ran to her feet, tail wiggling, and Credence stared.

That was not the dog he'd seen Iliana walking. This dog was impossibly skinny, with a head shaped like the head of an axe. It had short, stubby legs and looked completely impossible. As he watched, Iliana lifted a small bowl of what he'd at first taken to be some kind of potpourri off the side table, pulled an ordinary twig from it, and tossed it at the dog's feet. It happily took the bit of wood in its mouth and trotted off to the rug beside the fire to gnaw on it.

"Gus is an axhandle hound, they eat wood."

Credence was suddenly aware of the fact that he was gaping and turned his attention back to Elvira, who was straightening her glasses and still watching him suspiciously. She glanced sideways to Iliana as she twirled her cane between her fingers. The long, thick rod transformed into a thin switch resembling the one he'd seen Iliana use, though Elvira's was made of a darker wood and more intricately carved.

"Last time I checked, I told you to stop following the Salemers around," Elvira told her sister sternly. "We realized they were just blowhards and weren't a real threat to anyone so long as they kept out of their way. Yet he's turned up bleeding on our doorstep. Explain," she ordered. Credence bristled a little, seeing how Elvira was talking to her sister, and made to... he didn't know what. Do something about it, he supposed. But his protest turned into a fearful cry as the top half of his clothes suddenly vanished. He doubled over fearfully, instinctively trying to hide the wounds, the way his ribs jutted out, the spreading bruises, the awful skinniness and paleness of his body from their eyes.

"Damn it, Elvira!" he heard Iliana seethe on his behalf, and a moment later a blanket was thrown over his shoulder by her quick hands. "Don't _do_ that to him!"

When he looked up next, there was something like brutal understanding in the older woman's eyes and Credence realized all the pieces had just slid into place. Elvira stared at him, sucked her cheeks in, and very calmly and icily asked, "D'you want me to kill her? Because I will happily kill her."

"Elvira," Iliana huffed, but her voice was being forced to sound light. Credence realized with a jolt that it was a serious offer. "Just help patch him up, if you will, and we can talk assassination later."

"Right." Elvira's head bobbed up and down in a nod and she raised her hand, the tip glowing. Credence instinctively shrank back from her reaching hands, and she gave an unfriendly laugh. "Scared of magic, boy?"

Credence numbly shook his head. "I-I don't... know enough to be scared. I j-just... being touched..."

"Ah." Her face softened imperceptibly. "I see. Don't worry, I won't have to touch you for most of this."

Credence listened to the soothing sound of Iliana's voice as she slowly explained their relationship to her sister. He noted she left some things out - their meeting in park and in the alley - and made it sound like they'd only stolen moments at the Salem rallies to talk and he'd come by once before seeking help after he'd been beaten. As she spoke, Elvira worked. She mumbled under her breath things that Credence half-recognized as some kind of Latin. Some of it though was in a language he'd never heard of. True to her word, she didn't touch him, just ran her wand through the air around him, the tip lighting different colors and trailing different sensations across him. His rib felt strangely but pleasantly warm, like he'd sunk just that spot into a warm bath. But when she got to his hands, there was a sensation like ice under his skin as the knuckles ground into place.

She summoned a bottle of something that came flying from down the hall. Iliana stretched out her hand and caught it, popping the cork from the vial of strange brown-purple liquid. She offered it to him and Credence wanted to refuse it, nervous to take anything anyone offered, but he was also very sure that Iliana didn't mean him any harm. He took it, his newly-healed hands shaking slightly, and downed it in one gulp. He gasped and stared at the bottle in disbelief. It tasted wonderful, like hot chocolate, and filled him with a tickling warmth.

"Generic all-purpose healing boost," Elvira grunted as she tapped her foot beside him. "Now come on, give me your leg."

She had to scoot back to make room for his long limb, but Credence bent forward to untie his shoe, unable to smother a smile as he was able to move without his ribs paining him. He pulled off his shoe and set his foot gingerly on Elvira's offered knee. She pursed her lips at the sight of two of his toes poking through his heavily-patched sock but wordlessly rolled up his pant leg and lowered the cuff of his sock to expose his ankle, which was blackened and purple.

"It looks like someone stepped on this," Elvira noted, tracing the curved shape of a shoe print lightly with her finger. She looked up at him knowingly. "Your mom?"

Credence shook his head. "Chastity," he mumbled, and her brow knit.

"That's the older one, right?" she asked, and Credence nodded. She huffed. "Well, like mother like daughter, ain't that sweet?" And she set her wand aside and warned, "I'm going to touch you for this bit."

Credence nodded. Knowing the touch was coming made it easier to bear as she wrapped both hands around his thin ankle and began to gently rub. A warmth filled the joint and washed away the pain, and Credence couldn't restrain a sigh... but then the warmth kept getting hotter and hotter until it felt like he'd thrust his leg into a fire. He whimpered in protest but bit his lip and bore the pain. Iliana's hands came up, once more, wrapping around his right hand and clutching it to her mouth. She wasn't looking at him, her eyes were on her sister as she worked, and that left Credence free to watch her in awe as she absently pressed a kiss to the back of his hand, hummed something wordless and soothing, and stroked a thumb across the place her mouth had just pressed.

"Anything else hurt?" Elvira asked, heaving a sigh as she finished her work. Credence was quick to draw his foot from her lap.

"N-No ma'am," he said politely. "Th-Thank you very m-much."

She huffed. "Iliana, tell him not to ma'am me. Also, feed him and give him a dose of pain relief for the road before you send him off. I'm going back to bed. Gus."

The axhandle hound leapt to its feet and trotted to her side as Elvira rose. She twirled the wand expertly between her fingers and it became a cane once more. The tip tapped against the wooden floor as she made her way down the hall, calling over her shoulder as she went, "And sweet Sayre _fix his damned socks!_ "

Iliana chuckled softly and shook her head as her sister vanished into the back of the apartment.

"She doesn't like me," Credence murmured. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"She doesn't dislike you," Iliana assured him, patting the back of the hand she was still holding onto. Credence was a little shocked about that honestly, given how battered and ugly that hand was. "She just doesn't like being woken up, especially like this. If you'd showed up at a reasonable hour, she'd have probably made you tea once I explained."

Credence winced. "I know it's late-"

"Technically it's early," Iliana cut him off. "But that doesn't matter." She turned a bit, angling her knees towards him, and tilted her head curiously. Credence stared at her, taking her in fully for the first time. She'd clearly been woken up too. Her hair was in a braid, like her sister, but several strands had come loose to hang around her face, giving her a soft, intimate look. Her nightgown was a blue so pale it was almost grey, but it brought out her eyes beautifully. There were thin, worn slippers on her feet with delicate embroidery across the toes. She was a vision, like one of those old paintings he'd seen on a flyer for a museum once.

"Would you like some tea?" Iliana asked him gently, and Credence shook his head.

"I don't want to be more of a bother..."

Iliana rolled her eyes and huffed. She smiled and waved a hand over her shoulder. Credence was able to watch as the kettle settled itself on the stove, presumably magically filled with water, and began to heat.

"Little household things like that aren't anything resembling a bother," she explained. "I think you could use a cup of tea before you..." She faltered.

Credence knew what she was going to say. Before he went back. He would have to go back to that hellhole where he'd been left on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Having seen this little slice of domesticity - Elvira's snappiness but willingness to help at a moment's notice, Iliana's tender hands and offers of tea - leaving it was almost physically painful. He felt an ache in his chest. His mind darted to his favorite fantasy, of himself and Iliana in domestic bliss. Sitting here it was easy to think that this was the home they shared, it made the dream more real than it had ever been before and Credence wanted it so badly.

"I went to MACUSA a few days ago," Iliana said softly as the kettle began to whistle. Another absent wave of her hand and it began to pour into two mugs on a tea tray. Credence's eyes drifted from the objects moving on their own to her.

"I don't know what that means," he admitted slowly.

"Magical Congress of the United States of America," she explained. "It's the magical government for this country. I spoke to a woman I know who work as an Auror - a policewoman."

Credence was slowly filing these new words away with what they meant, carefully building up his lexicon so that he could understand what she was saying when she spoke about her world - yet another thing between them that was secret and special.

"I asked her what happened if a magical child who had never been identified was left in an abusive No-Maj - non-magical - home," she continued as the tray settled itself on the table in front of them, cream and sugar sitting ready beside the mugs. Iliana ignored it, instead reaching out and taking his hands, both of them, between hers. "She said there was nothing they could do so long as the person was now over the age of majority."

Credence remained still staring at her. She was building up to something, he could feel it in her tone and in the swooping sensation in his stomach. He could almost guess what it was, too, but he hardly dared to hope.

"Why were you asking that?" he inquired softly, and Iliana scooted closer still so that she was pressed up against his side, like she was willing him to understand with her sheer closeness alone, and Credence was too selfish to tell her it wasn't appropriate for her to sit so close.

"Because I'm fairly certain you have magic, Credence," Iliana said softly, and Credence's breath wooshed out of him.

He knew what she'd been getting at but hadn't dared to believe it. The stories he'd told her from his childhood about silly children's things - crayons and stuffed toys - had meant more to her than they had to him. The curiosity, the desire he might have developed to explore those abilities, had been beaten out of him by Ma. And, really, that was the only thing that made him doubt her words.

"If I were magic, Ma wouldn't have been able to do this to me." Credence hated to say those words, hated how much they made him sound like a victim. Men weren't supposed to get beat up by women, and they weren't supposed to hit women. That was how it was meant to be, but somehow Credence was so twisted and backward and wrong that the tables had turned and Ma had beaten him down for years. He was... weak. Barely a man at all, really.

"Oh Credence," Iliana breathed. He didn't look up at her, couldn't, and so she took it upon herself to make him, reaching up and sliding soft fingers under his chin, lifting his face to look at her. "Magic isn't a cure for everything. It can do a lot, can spare us from a lot, but without proper training it would be like expecting... expecting someone who could be a crack shot one day to pick up a gun every few months and hit the bullseye every few times. They might manage it but it would be dumb luck."

"That's why I doubted when..." Credence stopped himself, because the man had told him not to say.

"When what?" Iliana asked lightly.

But it was Iliana and he couldn't deny her anything. "A man found me after a rally two days ago. He had a switch like yours. He did magic. He told me he'd seen visions, a very powerful child close to Ma who would help better... your world." He couldn't quite bring himself to say 'the wizarding world' as the man had. He still half-feared Ma would somehow sense him talking magic and swoop down on him. "He said that if I helped him he could give me magic. Said I'd never have to deal with Ma again."

"Give you magic?" Iliana frowned. "No one can be given magic, either you're born with it or you're not. You are... Perhaps he knew that somehow and was speaking metaphorically? If he truly were a Seer I suppose it's possible he could have had a vision of some future where he saw you doing magic. But a powerful child destined to better the world, that sounds dangerously close to a prophecy and those are far rarer and more finicky than your standard divinations..."

Credence head spun as Iliana's eyes clouded with thought and she seemed to drift, muttering to herself as her brilliant mind untangled the knots of what he'd said. It stunned him that not only was she taking him seriously, but apparently this wasn't even odd to her. It was just an accepted part of her world that people could predict the future or make prophecies or whatever else.

"C-Can you?" Credence asked, hesitant to interrupt her ongoing spiel. Her eyes snapped back to alertness and lingered on him.

"Can I what?"

"Predict... things?"

Iliana chuckled. "Yes, to an extent. There are standard ways to read things like the stars or tea leaves or palms and I know them, but the Sight is a rare gift. According to journals our great-great-great-great uncle Gudbrand was a Seer, but being a Blödgarmr meant that no one took him seriously when he made predictions."

She frowned. "This man concerns me though. Reaching out to you as a No-Maj would be illegal, but if he knew you were magical... he might have had good intentions, but then, if he did, why not go ahead and offer to teach you while you looked for this theoretical Messiah."

"His name was Graves," Credence offered, and Iliana tilted her head.

"First or last?"

"I... don't know."

"Hm. Well the only Graves I know is the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement so I think we can safely say it wasn't him. I don't like it Credence, not one bit." She shook her head firmly. "I think your best course of action is to play along and do what he wants. If you see something helpful, tell him, but for the love of all that's magical be careful. I'd... well, I'd be quite distraught if something happened to you," she finished quietly, and for once she was the one averting her eyes with a warm flush to her cheeks.

For just a brief, beautiful moment Credence allowed himself to hope. Hope that maybe his feelings were returned, maybe she cared for him as deeply as he cared for her. Hope that maybe she too dreamed of a future with the two of them together in it. Hope that, God willing, maybe his deepest fantasy of the two of them in their own place like this could become a reality. But then reality, the fickle mistress that it was, crashed down on him and he understood that no, that wasn't going to happen. There was too much between them, they were too different.

But maybe... maybe not so different.

"But if he can teach me to do magic...?" Credence trailed off, because it sounded amazing. He wanted it so desperately, to be able to wave his hand the way Iliana and her sister did and make things happen. Ma would never be able to touch him again. He could just be in another place if he wished it, Iliana had said. He could predict the future. He could make potions like that purple-brown hot chocolate stuff that Elvira had made him drink. He could lay his hands on Iliana if she was hurt and for once make her feel better instead of it being the other way around. He could do so many things.

Iliana's face was set and her eyes were glowing. She shook her head firmly, the loose strands of hair around her face dancing with the motion. "He's not going to be teaching you magic, Credence."

He crumbled. Why would she deny him this? "Why-?"

Iliana leaned forward, hands sliding up so that they were laid alongside his throat, her thumb framing his jaw. Her expression was intense, focused, and determined as she stared into his eyes, into his soul. "Because I want that honor, thank you very much, and I got to you first," she said, and for all the forcefulness in her voice there was also a soft hint of affection to it in the way the corners of her mouth turned up.

Credence's eyes widened. Magic lessons with Iliana... could there be anything more perfect? Hm, perhaps the way her hands were holding him so gently... "You would do that?" he breathed, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching up, his hands curling around her wrists. "You would teach me?"

"You have to understand that I don't have a formal education myself," Iliana admitted.

"But you're brilliant!"

She chuckled. "Thank you, you're right. But yes, Credence, I would love to teach you magic. Perhaps it'll save me from getting tossed in anymore fountains."

Credence winced. "I'm so sorry..."

"Oh, that's alright, darling, it didn't hurt," Iliana assured him, and one thumb stroked a smooth arch along his jaw before her hands pulled away. She winked. "I'm made of much tougher stuff than you might think. And it's even a good thing - that was what showed me you had magic, what brought me here."

As much as Credence didn't like the idea of anything hurting Iliana, at all, ever, he couldn't deny that he fully supported anything that had brought him to this moment, with the pair of them pressed together on her couch in the firelight, not an ache in his body, trading whispers of magic.

* * *

 **I've have a couple of questions about the ages of the sisters so I'd like to address that quickly. Elvira and her sister are roughly a decade apart in age, I've never been more specific than that. For a little more context, we have a rough estimate on Credence's age being about 25 in the first movie and Newt is almost 31. At the time that the story takes place, Iliana is in the late teens-early twenties and Elvira in her late-twenties-early thirties. I didn't want there to be a particularly massive age gap between them and their respective pairing partners.** **Though, for some reason I do imagine Elvira being a bit younger than Newt.** **When I began this story we had no real information on Credence's age so I placed him as early twenties, assuming that, had he been much older, he might have found it in him to simply run away.**


	12. Chapter 12

"Ah, so we are going to talk about it then?" Elvira asked archly as Iliana stepped into the Cactus Cat, dressed for her evening's work in a glittering navy dress, peacock feathers woven into her hair, and black beads dripping from her neck. Iliana sighed and shut the door behind herself, locking it up tight. It was too early for the bar to open, but it was nearing that time.

"I woke up and you and the Barebone boy were both gone," Elvira explained. "Him I expected, but you? Not so much."

Iliana moved behind the bar, helping her sister restock what they were running low on with flicks of her wand in the direction of the storage room. "It's just a hard conversation to have, alright?"

"It's illegal," Elvira insisted. "He's a No-Maj, if you're caught-"

"He's not," Iliana cut her off, looking up at her sister. She caught a bottle of white wine and hid it under the counter before turning and hopping up on it, perching there lightly. "He's as magical as you or I, he's just never been trained. Ilvermorny doesn't even know he exists, it seems."

Elvira's eyes widened in shock. "The Barebone boy is _magic?_ How's that possible?"

"You know they're all adopted," Iliana reminded her. "He told me stories of accidental magic that he performed as a kid and once, when we talked... I upset him, he reacted badly." She lowered her voice. "He pitched me into a fountain."

Elvira's voice rang with indignity and annoyance. "He _pitched you-_ "

"He didn't mean to, it was a rough conversation, and I was fine anyway," Iliana was quick to assure her lest Elvira tear off on the warpath to avenge her sodden honor. "You know how accidental magic can be."

Elvira nodded slowly. She'd seen more than her fair share over the years, both things she'd done and things Iliana had done as a child. "I suppose. But what are the odds that a woman that hates magic like Mary Lou Barebone does would end up with a magical child?"

Iliana hummed, because this was something she'd been thinking about long into the night, after Credence left, and she had developed a sickening theory about it. "I think it might not be an accident. I think it might be on purpose. I think she... she finds kids with no one else who show signs of magic, and takes it on herself to beat it out of them."

Elvira sagged against the counter, eyes wide and face pale. "Shit," she breathed, her hand tightening on the top of her cane. "That sounds like a Barebone, thinking they can beat the magic out of a person. But why do you think that, Annie?" Elvira knew better than to think this was just some wild thought she'd had.

Iliana shrugged. "Things Credence had said. When he mentioned stories of doing magic in front of Mary Lou as a child, one would think she would have been shocked and horrified. But everything he said was about her being angry. Surely if she hadn't known she'd have been horrified, tried to get rid of or maybe even kill the kids. I think maybe... this is all part of some sick plan of hers to try and stomp out magic. Think of Modesty," Iliana urged. "If she's magical and she's raised her whole life to think magic is evil..."

Iliana was getting at psychological trauma and a girl whose magic withered and died, but Elvira was thinking of something far, far darker. Surely it wasn't possible, not so many of them surrounding her as an individual when the official party line was that they no longer existed at all... But it made sense - a magical child growing up in an aggressively non-magical home like the Crane boy had, like the Barebone children were, it was the perfect storm for an Obscurus to form.

And form one had. There had been another attack since she'd written Newt, the Daily Ghost talking about mass obliviations of No-Majs and wizards who reported seeing great gouts of black smoke. It sounded like a Obscurus to her, it had since the beginning, and knowing there was a family in Manhattan with the perfect conditions to form one made it all the more likely that she was right.

It couldn't be Credence, though, he was far too old. It had to be Modesty, the youngest. Elvira had never wished for Newt to be there more, because he had the completed version of the Ramirez ritual. She couldn't reach him though, didn't know where on the seas he was, and even if she sent an owl there was no guarantee he'd be able to send one back with any real information. He had no idea as to the situation here, maybe he'd be able to take one look at the _Daily Ghost_ clippings she'd cut out and say something charmingly knowledgeable like, "Oh no, of course that's not an Obscurus, it's a Siberian Smokestack, you can tell by the color and shape of the plumes," or something like that.

"Shit," Elvira whispered again.

"It's too late for Credence, or for Chastity really," Iliana admitted, the last name drawing a severe amount of frostiness into her tone. "You saw the marks on his ankle - his sister did that, not his Ma. She's completely under Mary Lou's thumb. There's nothing to be done for her. I doubt she has a drop of magic left. Credence could leave too, except he has no job skills and no money, and he doesn't have the education to do anything in the magical world. It's only Modesty that still has a chance at a normal life, really."

"Sweet Sayre," Elvira breathed. "What she's done to those kids..."

Iliana took a deep breath, bracing herself, before saying firmly, "Which is why I'm going to teach Credence to use magic."

Just as she'd predicted, Elvira straightened up, cane clattering to the ground as she lost her grip and eyes blowing wide. "The hell you are!" she seethed. "If that's what that woman is willing to do with some helpless kids then think what she'd do to a real witch!"

Iliana scowled. She stripped one black glove off of her right hand, feeling a protective urge rising inside of her at the thought of Credence's injuries the night before. She'd sent him off with a quick glamour to make it look like he was still injured, but under it all he was whole and hearty. Or, he was as much so as he could be after so many years of abuse at the hands of Mary Lou. She may have accepted that she cared for Credence, and the looks he gave her left little doubt that he adored her as well, but starting anything felt like taking advantage, like she was somehow abusing whatever power she had over him.

Of course, that didn't change the fact that she'd happily kill his Ma for him if he asked.

With that thought in mind, Iliana raised her hand, flames gathering harmlessly in her palm. Fire like this had always come easily to her, one of the side-effects of her parentage. "She's welcome to try."

Elvira's face softened and she sighed, reaching up to scrub at her forehead wearily. "I know Mary Lou couldn't hurt you, not really, but she can hurt Credence. And if you tried to stop her from doing anything to either of you, you can bet your ass that MACUSA would execute you, forget being tossed in jail. You're a Blodgarmr and half-vela besides. They'd be only too happy to get rid of you."

"I don't care!" Iliana snapped, the flames on her hand blazing higher before she doused them. She waved a few threads of smoke away from her fingers and replaced her glove. "He's got just as much right to understand what he is as I did!"

"It's dangerous..."

"No more dangerous than any one of a hundred things you've done for people since we came to New York!" Iliana insisted. "How can you tell me I can't do the same to help someone I care about?"

Elvira blinked, mouth snapping shut with an audible click of teeth. She beckoned her fingers absently, her cane jumping back to her hand. She leaned against it heavily as she sighed and rubbed her forehead wearily. "I hate when you use logic and make good arguments. Makes it a lot harder to fight with you."

Iliana smiled softly. "I know. Look, Ellie, I know it's dangerous and I know it's probably not smart of me to get tangled up in all of this but you _saw_ what she did to him, you _saw_ what he's going through," she insisted. "How can I walk away from that?"

Elvira sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "See, it's really frustrating how I can't get mad at you for doing what you're doing, because that's exactly what I'd be doing if I were in your shoes." She looked up at her sister, smiling weakly. "Just be careful. Bring him to the apartment if you have to find a safe place for lessons. But if not, _make sure_ you're not spotted," she stressed, reaching out and placing one hand on Iliana's cheek fondly. "Last thing we need is me having to bust you out of jail. It'd be a whole mess and I haven't got the energy for something like that these days."

"Yes, I know." Iliana grinned up at her cheekily. "You're getting old."

"Hey!" Elvira barked, and tapped the tip of her can against the ground sharply. "Watch it, or I'll ground you, of age or not!"

* * *

 _Elvira,_

 _I've arrived in Savannah and thus far there has been no trouble. I've booked passage on a ship heading for New York City. If you could please give me the address of the Cactus Cat Lounge, I'll make sure that it's my first stop once I arrive._

 _I must confess, your Howler meant so much to me, and again, I suspect that sentence has never been dreamed of before. I have spent so long unable to talk to anyone but the translator, whose grasp of English is tenuous. To actually hear your voice wishing me well, forgiving me, was exactly what I needed. I'll admit your version of a pep talk is not what I normally would have expected, and yet it was perfect because it came from you. We've been through this whole mess, first with Frank and now with the Obscurus, and having you there at the end of that seemed... poetic._

 _I'm going mad here on the boat. I have my animals to take care of, Frank to tend to, but as I'm travelling with Muggles and tend to put my foot in my mouth at every given opportunity, I'm afraid to mingle with the other passengers. I take meals in my rooms and only take a turn about the deck once or twice a day to keep myself from going entirely mad. I'm even more isolated then I was in Sudan and I'm starting to believe that might be the worst possible thing for me right now._

 _I can't get it out of my head, the sight of that poor girl's body. I've gone over it a thousand times in my head, trying to figure out what went wrong. I can't sleep for trying to find my mistake, which I know isn't healthy but it's the truth. I'd brew myself up a batch of Dreamless Sleep, but I'm low or entirely out of multiple ingredients and won't be able to resupply until New York._

 _I cannot wait to get off this infernal boat and into a new city where I have all sorts of things to distract me from reality. Knowing that it wasn't my fault and actually believing it are two different things, as I'm sure you understand._ _I know it, I just can't quite make myself believe it yet._

 _I'm sorry, this has been a very sad and self-pitying sort of letter, hasn't it? I feel as if I'm a terrible pen pal, writing you just to complain about how wretched I feel. I shouldn't be complaining at all, really. I have no right, and it's rather shameful, isn't it? I suppose I'm simply not up to much in terms of sparkling conversation these days. I feel I'm very out of practice. We shall have to talk until the wee hours when I finally get there, and hopefully I'll only put my foot in it a time or two and you'll be kind enough to forgive me when I inevitably do._

 _On my way,_

 _Newt_

* * *

 _Idiot,_

 _Yes, you read that correctly. This letter is addressed to idiot, because that's what you're being, Newt. No one expects you to bounce back from this instantly. I'd be appalled if you did, frankly. It's also not terrible of you to tell me you feel terrible about it. It's not healthy to keep things bottled up inside of you for too long - trust me on this. And if this is some sort of masculine 'I can show the world my feelings' nonsense then I really will smack you when you finally do get here._

 _Things are a bit of a mess here as well, and I'm just as desperate for a distraction as you. As it happens, my sister has gone out and picked up a No-Maj boy off the streets. Except he's not a No-Maj, he's a wizard who somehow managed to miss an invitation to Ilvermorny. Iliana's decided to train him in magic, which wouldn't be a problem, except he's the ward of the woman who runs that anti-magic hate group I mentioned in previous letters. I'd call her a bitch, but that's an insult to dogs. That poor boy came looking for Iliana last night, turned up on our doorstep bleeding from all over and bruised from head to toe. It took me half an hour to get him entirely patched up, and the old, improperly-healed damage my diagnostic spells turned up are enough to make anyone sick to their stomach._

 _So if you turn up and I'm not at the Cactus Cat, know I'm in jail for murdering that offensive bit of slime who dares to call herself a human being._

 _I told Iliana she should stay out of it, that it was too dangerous for her to risk, both from the boy's guardian and from MACUSA, but she pointed out to me that I'd done the same sorts of things before, which is a really annoyingly effective bit of logic on her part. I'm torn between constantly worrying about you, about her, about the bar..._

 _Hurry up and get here, so I can stop worrying about you being lost at sea or something equally ridiculous._

 _Counting the days,_

 _Elvira_

 _P.S. Enclosed you'll find something to hopefully help you sleep, and a potion to knock you out if that fails._

 _P.P.S. I don't actually think you're an idiot. In fact, I do believe you're one of the cleverest men I've ever had the pleasure of meeting._

Newt smiled down in his little shed, Iliana's letter in his hands. Counting the days, it sounded almost like... He'd seen that sort of thing scrawled at the bottoms of the letters that men he'd worked with the Ukraine had gotten from their sweethearts. Elvira couldn't mean it like though, though he had to admit that he half-hoped she did. He'd never even met the woman and he already felt the symptoms he got around women he'd fancied in the past - brain fog, sweaty palms, an unfortunate tendency to try and hide behind his floppy hair.

He untied the twine around the small package that was attached to the letter. From within the brown paper fell two things. One was easily-identifiable, a bottle of Dreamless Sleep. That must have been the potion she meant, but what confused him was the first bit of her post script. Something to hopefully help him sleep...

Newt picked up the paper and shook it, and what looked like a coin fell from within and clattered to the floor. He scrambled to pick it up, realizing it wasn't a coin, but a slim, round locket with no chain. It was badly scuffed and worn and there was a pawn broker's mark on the back of it. It was obviously something Elvira had run out and picked up cheaply, but it still didn't explain anything.

Curious, Newt wormed his fingernail into the small divot on the side and popped the catch. The locket fell open on his palm. Soft music began to play from within in and then he heard a voice singing, low and slightly horse and not at all like the high warble of his mother that he remembered from childhood. It was Elvira's voice, and she was singing gently.

 _"Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, go to sleep little baby. When you wake you shall have all the pretty little hippogriffs."_

Newt laughed softly as he listened and closed his hand over the locket. It didn't dull the music one bit as it played on determinedly, a tinge of embarrassment audible in Elvira's voice, like she couldn't believe what she was doing but she was doing it anyway. It was so utterly perfect and somehow exactly what he would have expected from her, and it made his chest feel oddly full to know that she had heard he was having trouble sleeping and her immediate response had been to put something like this together. She couldn't hear a problem someone was having and let it lie, she had to try and fix it.

It was a quality he admired.

* * *

Credence sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands. He knew what they could do, and it felt like his whole world had changed. For so long he had felt... powerless. Trapped. But Iliana was so confident that that couldn't be further from the truth. He had power, the power to do the things she and her sister did - to heal injuries, to make himself pass unnoticed, to create slips of paper that could track his motions, could brew potions! It was a heady thought and one that both thrilled and terrified him.

For so many years he had listened to Ma shriek about the evils of magic. He had stomped out that part of himself years ago out of fear but he was now considering trying to develop it. The idea of what Ma would do to him if she knew, what would happen if he was caught, made his stomach turn. He felt physically ill recalling some of the beatings he'd gotten after something peculiar had happened and he could only imagine that now those beatings would be far worse. He was older now. He could handle more.

But why should he be afraid? Why did he need to be afraid of some stupid woman who was ignorant and hateful and blind and didn't have the power that God gave a flea. He had power, he had magic, he could make her pay. He could brush her aside like he was swatting a fly if she came at him again. He had thrown Iliana bodily, and he hadn't even had to think about it. If he wanted to, if he really wanted to, he could destroy her...

Credence moaned, reaching up and clutching his head, the thing in his stomach curling and knotting and starting to scent the air. It could feel his weakness, could feel the darkness in him, and wanted to use it to climb up and take control. It was getting stronger, gaining more of a foothold, starting to take him over, and that terrified him far more than Ma ever had, that he might lose himself...

There was a tapping sound, something rhythmically tapping against glass. Credence glanced to the side. There was a bird sitting on the ledge outside of his window. It was a pretty little thing, with blue-grey upper feathers and stark white underbelly. It's beak clacked repeatedly against the panes, insistent and impatient. Credence had never seen a bird behave that way. It was enough to make him stand and reach for the latch, fully expecting the bird would fly away the moment he tried to open the window.

It did the exact opposite. The moment the window was open, the bird darted inside, turning a circle around gas lantern hanging from the ceiling, and then landed on the small wood table that served as something resembling a desk. It perched on the seat of the upturned apple crate that was his chair and fluttered its wings as it settled itself in. Credence stared at in in amazement, rearing back in shock when it begant to grow and stretch.

A moment later Iliana was sitting on the apple crate, her legs crossed delicately at the ankle, reached up and sweeping a loose lock of hair behind her ear. Her other hand rested on her purse in her lap. She looked up at him and smiled, eyes glinting mischievously as she raised a finger to her lips. Iliana waved her hand and muttered something, then rose to her feet.

"There, the room is sealed. We can speak freely," she said in satisfaction, and again Credence boggled at her abilities.

But on the heels of that thought came a kind of shame. He'd seen her home. It was not lavish by any means, but it was well-apportioned and she had her sister obviously lived quite comfortably. It was a far cry from his attic room where most of the furniture was worn wood and some of it wasn't even technically furniture, the apple crate being the most obvious example. There were cracks in the wall through which winter winds blew and sometimes, if they blew just right, he woke up to a light dusting of snow on his floor in the winter.

More than that there was the fact that it was Iliana, always Iliana, who had to protect him. From his Ma, from Chastity, from everything. Credence loathed the weakness that had been beaten into his bones at that moment, the weakness that kept him from feeling like he could take care of her for once, like he could the protector... like he could be a man for her.

The only way that would change, though, would be if he listened to her lessons and took them to heart. She had explained to him that her education was nontraditional - there was a school for this sort of thing in Massachusetts, apparently, but she had never gone - and so his education would be nontraditional as well. He was fine with that. He was fine with anything that gave him more time with her and more ability with this magic that supposedly lived under his skin, the thing he had to protect himself against the world.

"Normally you'd be taking classes in various subjects and building from a base knowledge in all of them at once," Iliana explained, "but we haven't the time and frankly I haven't the patience for that. I'll be throwing a lot of different things at you and seeing what sticks. When we figure out what you've a knack for, then we can progress accordingly."

Credence eyed her nervously. "What if I don't have a knack for anything?" he asked softly. He felt strange, standing over her as she sat perfectly at ease on his crate-cum-chair, but the only other place to sit was his bed and... no. There were implications to beds, implications of things that made his blood hum and his ears go red.

"Everyone is good at something," Iliana chuckled, seeming utterly unconcerned by his fears that maybe it was too late, maybe he'd missed his window, maybe those random bursts of magic were all he'd ever be able to manage.

"What are you good at?" Credence as curiously, eager to get to know more of her through this new, witchy lens.

Iliana paused thoughtfully, biting her lip. "Hm... I suppose you could say I'm good at the finnicky things. The heavy theories and the research. That's where I'm most at home."

"Can you teach me to make that p-potion you had me drink the other night?" Credence asked, because that stuff had been wonderful.

Iliana shook her head mournfully. "Sadly, no. I can muffle sounds and lights from this room but potions, when your learning, can be tricky. Explosions, boiling over, eating through the floor... It would be too risky."

"Do I... need a wand?" Credence asked uncertainly. He felt even more uncomfortable and awkward than he normally did, like a foal trying to figure out how to take its first steps into this new world.

Again, Iliana shook her head. "No. There's only three wandmakers in the country right now and they won't sell unless you have some kind of documentation from Ilvermorny. I could potentially make you one, but that would take a lot of time that we don't have. You'll be learning the old way." She raised her hands and wiggled her fingers, smiling slightly.

"So I just... point at something?" Credence could feel his face going redder as he tried to guess his way into his first proper, intentional spell. Thankfully, Iliana seemed to understand, because she smiled at his as she stood.

"Sort of. Since you've been suppressing your magic for so long, though, it may be a bit tricky to overcome that mental block," Iliana explained. "I'm going to try something to help kick-start the process." She held out her hands, palms up. The meaning was clear, but Credence still stared at her, dumbfounded for a moment, before slowly lifting up his hands and laying them gently on top of hers. He was scared to touch her, in a way, flesh-on-flesh feeling too intimate. She had no such reservations, curling her fingers around his wrists.

"What I'm going to do is feed a bit of my magic into you." She was explaining everything to him like she would with a child but Credence appreciated it. He felt adrift and knowing every step of the process helped ground him, helped him understand what was happening to and around him. "Obviously, my magic is not supposed to be in your body, so yours should rise up defensively. Once you access that and get a feel for how it flows inside you, that will make it easier to drawn on. Eventually it will become as easy as breathing."

"That sounds very..." Credence could quite say how that sounded.

Iliana nodded sympathetically. "It will not be entirely comfortable, but it should be quick and will help in the long run. We don't have to if you don't want to," she assured him, loosening her fingers to show it was his choice. "It's entirely up to you how we proceed, I just think this might help a bit."

In response, Credence curled his fingers around her wrists. Her bones felt small and delicate under his fingers. She beamed at him.

"Close your eyes."

He didn't want to, not when Iliana was in front of him and smiling, but he did.

"I'm beginning now."

It was an odd sensation. Uncomfortable, she'd said, but it wasn't quite that. Simply... different. It was as if something pleasantly warm was slipping through his veins alongside his blood, something that tingled and hummed like the air after a lightning strike. It was a kind of energy and he could feel it as it snaked up his arms. It felt like Iliana was trailing her fingers along his muscles, his veins, his bones, his _soul_ , and Credence shook.

The movement stopped, but he could feel it there, coiled, waiting to proceed as Iliana asked gently, "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," he said hoarsely, because that was the very last thing he wanted. He wanted to stay like this forever, where he could almost feel her inside of him, the same mixture of peace and energy he felt whenever he was around her. "Keep going."

Iliana seemed wary, progressing slower as her magic crept up his shoulders and dipped into his chest. That was when Credence felt the beast in his stomach stir, lifting its head and looking around like it sensed a threat. Credence tensed for a moment as he felt it start within him and seemingly realize what was happening. He opened his mouth to warn her, to tell Iliana she needed to get out, but it was too late. The beast lunged, grabbing onto her magic with its fangs and sinking them deep. Iliana cried out and Credence ripped his hands from her, staggering back, breaking the connection.

They stood, staring at each other. Credence felt the thing inside him, his magic, pacing circles, ready and waiting to jump on the next attack. It was there, and now he understood what Iliana had meant when she said it would help him understand the feel of his magic. He'd been feeling it - been terrified of it - for months, he simply hadn't known what it was. His mouth hung open, eyes wide, as he realized his magic had been stirring for quite a while now.

Iliana, for her part, was shaken. She could feel a trickle of cold sweat run down her spine and her throat felt void of moisture. What she had felt inside of Credence was something she had never before experienced. She'd done similar exercises before with her father, with Elvira, both of whom were powerful people. But they had paled in comparison to Credence. his magic was like looking into a well, still and untapped, but impossibly deep. He was perhaps the most powerful individual she had ever encountered and he was completely ignorant of that fact.

What terrified her beyond belief was that fact that the well was dark. It was not filled with water but with something thick and black and almost oily. It made her stomach twist and her spine stiffen in some kind of prey instinct-driven fear. She knew that what was in front of her could hurt her and would do so happily. As pleasantly surprised as she had been to discover that Credence had that level of power, she was also absolutely horrified to discover how completely and utterly Dark that power was.

"I-Iliana?" Credence asked softly. He was terrified he'd somehow hurt her. She was just standing there, arms still outstretched, looking at him like she'd never seen him before.

 _"Dark and Light - bah, those are European concepts."_ Her father's voice rang in her ears. " _Nothing is inherently Evil or inherently Good. It's all in the intent, just like everything in magic. You see?" He had made a black sort of fire bloom from his fingertips, a heat so strong she could feel it on her face from where she sat three feet away. "Scary, right?" From within the flames grew a perfect red rose, petals totally unaffected by the sinister flames. When its petals had fully bloomed, the flames roared higher, and Iliana had to cover her eyes. When she opened them again, the rose was encased in crystal, perfectly preserved and indestructible. Her father handed it to her. "See? Not evil at all." He tapped her nose._

Iliana thought of that rose, lying on her vanity back home, a small souvenir of her father's lessons and a touchstone of memories of him now that he was gone. The boy who was looking at her like he was scared she would shatter if he touched her would never try to hurt her. It simply wasn't in him.

"I'm fine, Credence," Iliana said, and smiled gently. She curled her fingers into loose fists as she lowered her hands. "Now that we've got you started, let's begin with the basics - making objects float."


	13. Chapter 13

"E-Excuse me?"

Elvira looked away from the game of gobstones going on on one of the back tables. That was theoretically legal as long as no money changed hands, but since the game had started, at least three bets had been placed.

The speaker was a skinny, bespectacled wizard with ragged dark robes and a twitchy manner to his walk. He looked utterly exhausted, with heavy dark circles under his eyes, the whites shot through with red, and an unhealthy grey undertone to his skin. On closer inspection of his pale complexion Elvira realized that this wasn't just a wizard, he was a vampire.

"Can I help you?" she asked softly, beckoning him to the other end of the bar where it was quieter and a little more secluded. He followed her, hand trailing along the surface of the bar like he needed help to stand. "Let me get you a drink, friend. You look like you could use it."

He had a surprisingly deep voice tinged with a Scottish accent as he raised a hand. "Thank you, but…" It took a moment for his tired eyes to fix on the bottle in her hand, but when he did his gaze sharpened. Elvira swirled the bottle of blood enticingly and smiled crookedly at him. He sank onto a stool, looking relieved. _"Thank_ you."

Elvira nodded and mixed up a Bloody Mary, heavy on the blood, and passed it across to him. He took a deep, satisfied drink, smacking his lips. That seemed enough to give him some energy and when he looked back at her he seemed slightly more alert.

"I was told that you were able to help people who are, er…" he trailed off uncomfortably.

"People of unique circumstance is what I always call it," she replied with a wink and a chuckle. "What can I do for you, mister…?"

"MacArthur," he replied. "Nathaniel MacArthur. I've, er, it's a bit delicate…" he glanced sideways at the next closest person at the bar. It happened to be Alfred, who was well into his empty bottom of his third drink of the night and mooning after yet another girl who had broken his heart. Elvira sloshed a generous pour of firewhiskey into another glass and slid it down the counter. With the instinct of years of being a barfly, Alfie caught it before he even registered it was coming at him. He looked up at her questioningly and Elvira jerked her head pointedly. Alfie looked curiously at Nathaniel before nodding and moving off further down the bar.

Nathaniel watched this exchange with interest, seeming to gain confidence from the amount of control Elvira clearly had on the room. "I've come from Pitlochry. My daughter, she married a _man_ from New York." The way he spat out the word made Elvira very confident that it wasn't the word that he wanted to use to describe his son in law.

"And you think she's in trouble?" she asked knowingly.

Nathaniel shook his head. "I know it," he hissed. "I didn't like the look of him from the beginning, but my Madeline, she always owled at least once a month. And now it's two months without an owl."

"You need to find her," Elvira guessed, and he nodded. "And you need to do it quietly, because of the vampire legislation MACUSA's got," she said disdainfully.

For a vampire to come in the US was a process that took months, even for a short visit. Anyone who was turned in the US had a grand total of seven days to register with the appropriate department at MACUSA or they were hunted down and imprisoned, and jail was exactly what would happen to Nathaniel if he was caught. He hadn't the time to bother with the bureaucracy of it all, not with his daughter on the line.

"What your son-in-law's name?" Elvira asked. "I can make some discrete inquiries on your behalf."

"His name is Mitchell Armstrong," Colin said spitefully. "But can you really?"

Elvira smirked. "The beauty of the Cactus Cat is that it's safe, but everyone who's dangerous or someone that knows them passes through here eventually. It may take some time, but I'll find your Mr. Armstrong. That said, I would appreciate anything you could tell me about him."

Elvira served her patrons by magic for the next several minutes, instructing the bottles to pour shots and glasses to serve themselves with distracted flicks of her wrist as she listened closely to everything MacArthur had to say. He thought that Armstrong lived somewhere in Manhattan, and he knew the man had a fondness for alcohol and gambling, something that had been the original cause of his concern over his daughter's marriage.

"I think that's what made him so attractive to her, honestly," he sighed wearily. "That I disapproved."

"How very Romeo and Juliet of them," Elvira said sarcastically, and Nathaniel gave a humorless laugh.

"I suppose so." He shook his head. "Miss Blödgarmr, I hate to impose after you've already been so helpful, but do you know of anywhere I might be able to stay while in the city? I'm not above sleeping on a park bench, but a proper bed would be nice."

Elvira straightened up, squinting through the faint haze of cigarette smoke that was starting to fill the room. "I dunno about proper," she muttered, "but I swear I saw him earlier, I… aha!" Elvira sketched a series of hand signs and a glowing purple copy of her hand pulled free from her skin and drifted across the room. It settled on a man lingering at a single table along the wall, tugging gently on the shoulder of his robes. He looked up, pale face easily visible through the dimness and smoke, and rose, crossing the room.

"Nathaniel MacArthur, this is Maas Oldhof. He's what you would call the local vampire liaison," Elvira said with a cheeky wink at Maas. The tall, burly Dutchman was exactly the opposite of the dour figure one expected from a vampire, but that's what he was. He inclined his head to Elvira knowingly. "Nathaniel is in town looking for his daughter and needs a place to stay."

Maas nodded. "We have a few rooms in tenements where we can come and go without much notice being taken. There's one not far from here. We can put you up there."

Nathaniel nodded and turned his attention to Elvira. "Miss Blödgarmr, I cannot thank you enough, I really can't." He took her hand between both of his and shook heartily. Elvira laughed him off.

"Ah, no, don't worry about it. Just do me a favor, will you Mr. MacArthur."

"name it," the man replied immediately.

Elvira leaned in. "When you find your Mr. Armstrong, give him a hex from me, eh?" she asked, and winked.

For a moment, Nathaniel's eyes flashed red. "With pleasure," he replied, and there was an inhuman hiss underlying the words that made Elvira very confident he'd be doing more than hexing his son-in-law if he found that man had done anything to Madeline.

* * *

"He's looking for someone," Credence said softly. "He says I can help. Graves," he added at Iliana's questioning look, and no wonder. They'd been in the middle of a lesson when he spoke up.

They had been doing this every night for almost a week now and odd as it had felt in the beginning, there was now something familiar about letting bird-Iliana in after night fell and then spending a few hours housed in his room shrouded in her protective spells. It seemed normal, in a way, and he had even become able to see her perched on his sad, sagging mattress without instantly becoming a red-faced stammering mess.

"I wondered," Iliana hummed, a crease forming between her eyebrows. "All of this about giving you magic, it's not doable. The only reason he would offer would be to get something from you. Is it still the supposed 'savior of wizardkind' he Saw close to your mother?" she asked, and Credence nodded.

"He said he had the same vision again, said that time is growing short. He was... angry, that I hadn't made any progress." Credence lowered his eyes.

It was strange, but even knowing the man was manipulating him he still wanted to help. Graves, whoever he was, was a mystery, and a potentially dangerous one. But he played the part of paternal concern so well and that was a delicious something that Credence had never once tasted. When Graves wrapped him in his arms and clapped him on the back, he felt... like man. Like he had the approval of someone powerful and he could draw strength and pride from that, instead of being the sniveling, fearful thing that he was.

"Did he hurt you?"

The way Iliana asked it, so fast and so sharp, with her eyes flashing and her expression fierce, was both comforting and disheartening. She knew he couldn't take care of himself, that was the point of these lessons, and she was ready and willing to defend him herself. Much as he was pleased by the sentiment behind the action, the sentiment itself made him feel... weak.

"No," Credence assured her, and she smiled, shoulders slumping slightly in relief. She reached out, patting his hand where it rested on his thigh as he sat on the apple crate.

"Good." She shifted her grip, lacing her fingers through his and pulling him to his feet. "Come on, moonlight is wasting and I want to see you levitate something bigger than a pencil before the night is out," she chided teasingly, wagging her finger at him, and Credence smiled back shyly.

"Yes ma'am," he replied quietly, and Iliana pointed to his bed.

"Lift that. Remember what I told you last time, about focus?"

"Focus builds the foundation for familiarity," Credence recited. It was a quote of her father's, one she'd recited to him before she left last night. Basically, it meant that while now he had to spend all his concentration on making the magic work, the more he did and the more he got used to it the easier it would become.

Iliana nodded approvingly. "Right. Now, go on," she stepped aside, out of the way of any potential mishaps if the bed tilted, coming to his side. She stood there patiently, hands folded in front of her stomach, watching him supportively. Credence took a deep breath, raised his hand, and wiled it. The pillow flew up into the air easily, but the actual bed frame stayed determinedly on the ground. He frowned focusing harder, and the sheets rustled, one corner of the bed lifted just slightly, and he felt so hopeful he completely lost his concentration. If Iliana's spells hadn't dampened sound the whole house would have come down on them as the corner slammed back down to the ground in a loud cracking of wood.

Credence cringed, but Iliana merely chuckled, unconcerned.

"Take care of how you move your wrist," she explained, moving closer to his side. She placed one hand on his shoulder and she other reached down the length of his arm to take his wrist. Credence trembled. He loved these moments, when she physically manipulated him into position. Feeling her hands along his body, even through the fabric of his shirt and jacket, was nice. It reminded him of the night she'd slipped her magic inside of him, a similar, less intense version of that lightning warmth creeping through his blood. It pleased him how easily she would reach out to make small corrections for him, how she seemed as eager to touch him as he was to be touched, though he'd never yet dared to be the one to reach out to her.

"You see?" Iliana continued, and her voice was soft by his ear as she guided his wrist through the appropriate motion. The small part of his brain that wasn't devoted to delighting in how her breath felt against his throat was noting that yes, that did feel different than what he had been doing and he knew how to fix it now. "It's all in the hands, the wrist and fingers. It took me ages to learn some of the more complicated gestures for some of Elvira's advanced spells. She had to move my fingers through them over and over."

"What do you mean?" Credence asked, and instead of answering verbally, she slipped past him, the fabric of her sleeve brushing his as she moved to stand in front of him, taking his upraised hand in both of hers. Iliana kept her eyes focused on the damaged, scarred skin of his fingers as she manipulated them into position, forming a complicated hand gesture that was supposedly the key to advanced magic. Credence cared little about that, he mostly cared that she keep touching him, her fingers gently tracing along the back of his hand as she finished her positioning.

"There, you see?" she asked softly, taking a moment to angle his wrist before stroking her fingers up his and away. "Like that." Credence wasn't paying a bit of attention to her words. Instead his eyes were closed and he was taking slow, steady breaths, trying to keep himself from doing something supremely stupid and getting himself blasted back through the door by an irate Iliana. He wanted to... he didn't even know at this point. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to make her flapjacks on Sunday morning. He wanted to lay her across his bed. He wanted to sit beside her on a piano bench and listen to her sing. He wanted to hold her close and never let Ma or anything else bad in the world touch her. He wanted to know that she was his as intensely and slavishly - yes, he was fully aware of exactly how pathetic he was - as he was hers.

"Credence?" she asked softly, and her fingers came up, touching his cheekbone gently, a hint of concern in her voice. "Are you alright? Is something wrong?"

Credence's eyes sprang open, because something was very, very right. He knew it, the magic roiling in his stomach knew it, and by the widening of her eyes and the way she gasped softly, she knew it too.

Iliana wasn't stupid, nor was she ignorant. She knew what a man in lust looked like. She'd seem the expression aimed at her more than once. But this wasn't lust - well, it was, but mixed with and diluted by a hundred other things - that swirled in Credence's dark eyes. Things like affection, adoration, fear, self-reproach, hope, hesitation. She had known from the beginning that Credence felt some sort of way about her. She'd accepted it as natural, as a part of her attraction to men inherited from her veela mother. She'd been foolish enough to think that it was something she could overlook and move past, even after realizing that she felt something beyond just affection and protectiveness for him as well. Iliana realized she had been missing signs of something deeper for a while now and felt both supremely worshipped and supremely stupid, and so she did something stupid about that worshipful look in Credence's eyes.

She shifted her hand so that her palm lay along his cheek, stepped in close, rose up on her toes, and kissed him.

Credence was a statue, a perfect moment carved in time by God himself because nothing could be better than this, than feeling Iliana holding his face so tenderly, being able to sense her right in front of him as the hem of her dress brushed the fabric of his slacks just below his knees. And she was kissing him, God have mercy, she was kissing him, her mouth pressed tightly to his, her lips working gently to massage his tattered soul, and he felt like he was about to either fly apart or melt into a puddle. He was wired and shaking, he wanted to hold her the way she was holding him and... and...

"Oh!"

Iliana jerked back suddenly, eyes wide, and the look of utter terror on her face drove a spike through his heart.

"I shouldn't have done that," she whispered, eyes darting all across his face, her hand shaking as it rose to cover her lips. "I should _not_ have done that."

She took another step back, angled her body towards the window, and he knew that she could flee that way as easily as she could through the door behind him. He knew she was about to bolt, could see it in her body language. He'd felt that feeling before, when the only way to escape was just to run, and he knew he couldn't let her. He lunged, grabbing her upper arms in a grip that was strong but gentle enough not to bruise. He'd never forgive himself if he ever marked her skin the way his had been marked so often.

"Then make it so it didn't happen," he pleaded, and she stared at him blankly.

"I... what?"

"Make it so that it _didn't happen_ ," Credence stressed, because this was important, this was critical, this was _everything_. If she left now he was terrified she wouldn't come back. "You have magic, erase my memory, rewind time, I don't care, I just... I don't want to... I _can't._.. I can't _lose you_ ," he all but screamed in her face, and thank god for her silencing spells because his voice actually echoed in the room in the silence between them as she stared at him, owl-eyed and mouth open softly.

" _Sweet Sayre,_ " she breathed, and she was shaking just as bad as he was, which made him feel both slightly better and slightly worse. "You... I... What am I _doing?_ " she moaned, and her hands came up to cover her face. Credence was horrified to realize that her shoulders were shaking with tears. When she lowered her hands, wetness had gathered in the corners of her eyes. As he watched, a single tear rolled down her cheek, diamond bright. "I can't... we can't..."

She reached up, knocking that tear away in an almost angry motion, but another fell down the same trail to replace it. As she moved her arms, Credence became aware that he was still holding her. He had reached out, he had placed his hands on her, and she wasn't shaking him off. She had made the first move, she had been the one to kiss him, but he could take steps too. Small ones, maybe, tiny by comparison, but he could do it, and that gave him the little bit of bravery required to force out two little words.

"Why not?"

Iliana made a noise in the back of her throat. "Why not? Credence, it's madness! Your situation here, with your mother, it's an absolute mess! How can I ask you to put up with me on top of all of that? I'm not exactly confident in this myself, despite what people would think... and that's another thing, you might not even feel as strongly for me as you think you do. I do things to men that I don't mean to, I'm half-veela! Merlin, Credence, I'm not even _human!"_ And she was gone again, burying her face in her hands and letting out a small sob.

Iliana felt wretched. She'd done the one thing she'd sworn not to do, she'd crossed the line she herself had drawn in the sand. And Credence was right, she could wipe it from existence, could erase the moment from his memory, but she didn't want to because she liked it and he did too and she couldn't bring herself to use magic on him, not like that, not taking a memory away when he'd already lost so much under Mary Lou's thumb. The very fact that he was willing to offer up that memory to be stripped away spoke of something scarily intense, the way he'd looked into her eyes like he was willing to sell his very soul to keep her in his life...

And wouldn't she do the same for him? It was stupid, they hadn't known each other long. A handful of meetings scattered across a few months, and yet aside from Elvira, Credence was the closest person to her in the world. Perhaps that said something sad about her interpersonal relationships, but did that negate the strength of her feelings, of his? It didn't change the fact that she still felt angry with herself, felt like she'd taken advantage of Credence's own shortcomings in that area, but the very fact that she felt bad meant something too, didn't it? And was it fair for her to take guesses at what he was feeling and make judgment calls for him based off of nothing but her own suppositions? Then of course there was the old fear that there was nothing behind Credence's affection for her but a genetic fluke, whatever it was that veela had that turned men's heads... and yet the moment she thought it that fear was completely discarded, because she could make a man want her physically, but she couldn't conjure up that whole host of other emotions she'd seen etched in his face.

Credence felt an odd tingling of awareness, a sort of slow realization creeping over them that despite how in control Iliana always seemed - confident in her magic, confident in her words, confident in herself - in some ways she was just as isolated and confused as he was. Something about that gave him a little bit of confidence as well, gave him the ability to look up at her and ask, "How do you know how I feel if I don't know myself?"

Iliana stepped back at that, finally breaking his grip on her, pulling away to let his arms swing down to his side. Credence noted that, somehow, Iliana was even more beautiful when she cried. The tears did something to her eyes, made them a shade of blue he'd never seen before, but he wished more than anything that the fearful, uncertain expression he read there was gone.

"I think..." Iliana licked her lips, trying to think of the words she needed, trying to figure out how to say this without breaking either of their hearts, "maybe we need to... to step back. To think about this."

"Iliana..." Credence was scared. She was taking another step back towards the window. It was still open.

"I think it would be best. I need to... to think, and so do you. Away from me, I mean, and anything I might do to you..."

"Please..."

"It's... I think this would be best. Safest... I-I... I'm sorry." She looked as agonized about it as he, but her shoulders were firm. "Three d-days. Th-That's all I'm asking..."

Iliana turned and Credence reached out a hand to try and stop her before she transformed into a bird and bolted through the window. But he couldn't have, because there was a loud pop and then she was just gone, and he was left standing in the middle of his room with his hand outstretched and a horror-struck expression on his face, the thing coiled inside his stomach screaming that this wasn't fair, that she didn't get to be the only one making this decision, that it wasn't just up to her. He could feel himself losing control, could feel it in the way his skin suddenly felt curiously loose and his head filled with pressure like something was trying to burst out.

Burst out it did, and through the window a wave of black smoke went barreling off into the night, screaming in wordless pain.

He missed the scrap of parchment that had fluttered to the ground in her place, her spidery writing scrawling across it: _I don't want to hurt you._

* * *

Elvira was sitting in the living room, absently massaging her aching leg. She wanted to write Newt, wanted to tell him about MacArthur situation, about the growing unrest in the werewolves of Long Island, about a lot of things. But she knew it was silly, that his boat would dock soon and he would barely have time to reply before he would actually be here, in front of her, staring eye to eye for the first time in their acquaintanceship. It was a heady thought, knowing that she would be able to just talk to him about these things too.

There was a loud crack as Iliana Apparated into the middle of the living room, she and Elvira being the only two capable of such a thing, and Elvira looked up curiously.

"Back from teaching so..." Elvira paled at the sight of Iliana's face, her hair a mess and her cheeks streaked with tears. Her shoulders shuddered with suppressed sobs and instantly Elvira was on her feet, aches of a night tending bar forgotten.

"What happened?" she demanded, instinctively snatching up her cane and twirling it to reveal her wand. "What's wrong, Iliana?"

"I-It's Credence," Iliana whimpered, seeming barely able to get the words out around her feelings.

Elvira swore softly. "What's happened? Is it his Ma? Did she hurt him?"

"No, it was me..."

The fire in the grate leaped higher in response to the surge of magic Elvira let off as her anger flared. "Did she come after _you_?" she asked, her voice deadly calm.

"I did it..."

Elvira felt sick. "You went after his Ma?" If Iliana had done that then the fact that Mary Lou Barebone deserved to be sent straight to Hell in a handbasket didn't mater, MACUSA would still be after Iliana's blood.

"I kissed him!"

Once upon a time, Elvira had ridden a bucking bronco at a rodeo and there had been a moment when the horse leaped straight up into the air to try and buck her off, and when it came down, she had felt like her stomach had been left behind, her neck snapped so sharply that she felt dizzy and light-headed. She felt like that now, like she'd just been bucked straight out of understanding the conversation.

"You... kissed Credence?" she asked uncertainly, and Iliana nodded, sinking into a chair. Elvira floundered for a moment, because this was very much not her area of expertise and neither had it been her fathers. Her mother had left before Elvira had any interest in boys, so she'd never had a woman's wisdom to rely on either.

"This is a problem," Elvira said, though it was more question than statement in actuality.

Iliana nodded helplessly. "You know what his situation is, you know what he's dealing with! And then I come in and I'm nice to him and it sounds so arrogant to say aloud but I'm scared that's all it is, that once he's... I don't know, once he's _better_ , once he's away from Mary Lou and functioning on his own that he won't feel the same. That he'll..."

"That he'll break your heart," Elvira finished softly, able to follow Iliana's somewhat meandering train of reasoning after knowing her for so many years.

"And that's so selfish of me! After all he's been through he deserves to be happy even if it's not with me and I can't deny him that! I feel like... like I owe it to him to let him... play the field, I suppose, much as it hurts. And I swore to myself I wouldn't do anything other than teach him, than be his friend, but Ellie, you should have seen how he looked at me!" she moaned, and Elvira was able to pick up from the way she was talking that whatever the Barebone boy felt for her sister was wholeheartedly reciprocated, a sentiment she had been entirely unaware of. "Like he... like he... like he _loved_ me!"

Elvira didn't know what to say, but the best she could come up with was, "And what if he does?"

Iliana shook her head furiously. "You've seen what that house is like, I don't know if he even knows what love is, familial, romantic, platonic, any of it!"

Elvira stared at her sister skeptically, finally lowering her wand. She concealed it inside her cane once more with a flick of her wrist and sat back down on the sofa, resuming her massaging absently. "That's... a little presumptive of you, Annie."

"I know!" Iliana insisted. She was starting to gather herself, to pull out of the initial burst of emotion and settle herself down. This time when she wiped the tears from her face, new ones didn't fall. "I know, don't think I don't, but at the same time I feel like I need to protect him, protect both of us. I told him that we needed time to think about things reasonably, to be apart. We've been together for hours every night for days now..."

"Wow. Days." Elvira said dully.

Honestly, she didn't know what the right answer was here. Telling Iliana to avoid Credence, while it might be safer in terms of MACUSA, seemed cruel. Telling her to go and be with him also seemed to be overlooking some valid points Iliana had raised. Telling her to follow her heart felt unbearably sappy and not at all actually useful.

"If you feel like you need time, then you need time," Elvira said slowly, puzzling her way through the words as she said them to try and make her thoughts come together into something cohesive. "It's not just him that needs looking after. You're allowed to look out for yourself as well. It's not a matter of who has been through more, you both have an equal right to feel whatever it is you're feeling, and if you feel like you need time to think through things, then it would be a bit manipulative of Credence to demand you ignore that feeling and run off into the sunset with him, wouldn't it? And I don't think it would be entirely healthy for you to constantly put your own needs and emotions aside for him, either." Elvira reached out, placing her hand on Iliana's knee. She remembered words that she had last heard her mother scream at her father, her justification for abandoning their family when Iliana was brought home, changing them from words of wrath to words of love.

"He's allowed to do what he wants, but so are you."

Iliana looked up at her sister. "That's not an answer. Tell me what I should do?" she pleaded, and Elvira shook her head, offering a wry smile.

"You think I've got a clue? There's no simple answer, not to this."

* * *

Newt stood at the rail of the passenger ship. The lights were bright in the distance as they sailed through the shallower water. They would be in New York about noon the following day, and he was shaking he was so excited. Not just about Elvira, but about releasing Frank, about seeing someplace new, about making new discoveries about American magical creatures... there was so much to do, to be excited about, but unsurprisingly, Elvira was the closest thing to his mind right now. He would be seeing her tomorrow, in less than 24 hours, and he felt like he was about to faint.

He was excited, certainly, he'd always been a bit excitable, particularly when it came to his creatures. But he was also starting to feel the slow creeping of uncertainty and social awkwardness curling in the pit of his stomach. For all she'd claimed not to care about such things, it was entirely different in person when compared to pen and paper. He could toss a draft of a letter if he didn't like how it sounded, but he couldn't take back spoken words. What if he offended her? What if he made her mad? What if he...

What if he wasn't what she expected?

She had a picture, and he supposed it was a decent one too, but that was a picture that would one day go on the back of a book jacket. That was... that was Mr. Scamander, who was commissioned to write a definitive work on the subject of magical creatures, not Newt, who was scrawny and gangly and didn't know how to talk to people.

He was just Newt, and just Newt had never impressed anybody.


	14. Chapter 14

Wake up. get dressed. Make breakfast. Scare pigeons out of the church. Prepare the soup. Hand out the leaflets.

It was all as it should be, everything a normal day would entail, and yet nothing felt normal. The world was tilted, off-balance, viewed through a cracked mirror and Credence knew why.

 _Iliana..._

Three days, she'd said. Three days wasn't so long. Not in the grand scheme of things. He'd gone three days without seeing her before, even a week. But that was before...

Before she welcomed him into her life, her world. Before she grabbed him and kissed him. Before he realized that just maybe the thing he wanted most in the world wasn't entirely beyond his reach.

When he awoke the next morning, not remembering having fallen asleep, apparently not having even bothered to undress, he had found the piece of parchment on the floor. It was now tucked into his pocket, his talisman when the feeling of abandonment and fear that she wouldn't come back after those three days got too strong. He would slide his hand into his pocket and touch the parchment, a solid, physical reminder of her schedule.

 _I don't want to hurt you._

This was hurting him. Whether or not she knew it, it was. He played through the night over and over in his head, to the point where Chastity had to physically grab his hand to stop him from over salting the soup into inedibility. Every moment was engrained in his mind and he played through it a hundred ways, wondering what he could have done, what he could have said, that would have made her stay.

He didn't know.

All he knew was that he needed her back.

"Three days," Credence whispered to himself, and wished he knew a spell to make time move faster.

* * *

This was not good.

This was extremely very not good.

This bordered on bad.

Disembarking the ship had been easy. His suitcase had passed Muggle inspection in a dozen countries and the US was no different. It was after he left the docks that things started get slippery.

Apparating had seemed rude, and so Newt had resolved to walk to the Cactus Cat. After all, there were things to see in New York besides Elvira, and he did want to see them. If he was honest with himself, he was stalling a bit, wandering the streets looking for anything that caught his eye.

His eye had been caught by a rally, the Second Salemers that Elvira had written him about, and it was when he stopped to listen that everything had really gone to pieces. Somehow, within a few hours of arriving in New York he had not only not managed to get to the Cactus Cat yet, but he was in the company of a MACUSA witch who seemed to think he was some kind of smuggler of dangerous animals - technically true in the letter of the law, if not the spirit - and a Muggle who'd gotten a bad bite off a murtlap and was having an allergic reaction.

Why had he dared to expect this was going to go easily?

"I know where to take him," Newt said to Tina, shifting his grip on his case to free up his hand a bit more. The handle was squeezing his fingers painfully as he tried to adjust his hold on Jacob's arm. The Muggle was teetering dangerously and he highly doubted Tina was enough to keep him upright on her own. Admittedly, not that he could have easily managed it alone either.

"What does that mean?" Tina asked suspiciously, and Newt explained,

"I have a friend in town. They will have the ingredients I need to fix this." He jerked his head in the direction of the bite on Jacob's neck.

"This friend of yours," Tina narrowed her eyes, "did _they_ enter the country illegally with a suitcase full of monsters too?"

Newt blinked at her askance. "I really couldn't say. But I do know that she'll be able to help."

The witch was looking at him like she trusted him about as far as she could throw him - could throw Kowalski - but she also knew that Newt had more knowledge about his creatures than she did. If he said that this friend of his would be able to help them cure whatever ailed the No-Maj, then she would be smart to believe him.

She was already on thin ice at MACUSA. Best to do what she could to mop this mess up before she was the next Irene Kneedander.

"Okay," Tina agreed, tightening her grip on the No-Maj's arm. "Take us there."

Newt wasn't sure about this - Elvira had made her feelings on MACUSA quite plain - but Tina alone couldn't do much to affect her. She might have once been an Auror, but now she was Wand Registry and didn't seem particularly well thought of in her ex-department. With that in mind, Newt closed his eyes, focused on the address Elvira had mailed him, and turned sharply on the spot.

When the crushing sensation ended, he found himself in an alleyway that looked just as shady and run-down as every other New York alleyway he'd passed. There was a haze of magic in the air though, he could feel it prickling his skin. There were wards here, powerful ones, stronger than one would think a simple bar really required.

"Come along," Newt said, and started walking out onto the street. Hopefully people who see them next to a bar and connect the dots that Kowalski had simply had too much and he and Tina were escorting him home. They would be inside quick enough, but he wasn't eager to break anymore laws today, not when he was fairly certain he was already in the double digits as far as the number of charges that could be levied against him.

"Wait a minute! This is the Cactus Cat!" Tina exclaimed when they stepped out onto the road. Next to them, hidden from No-Maj eyes, was a door with a picture of a cactus painted on it. That was the only visible mark to let passers-by know where they were, but it was enough to make Newt twitchy and nervous. This was not how he'd wanted to meet Elvira, not at all, but the fact remained that she was just behind that door and it was a bit late to back out now, no matter what Tina thought of him.

"Hang on!" Tina yanked them to a stop by pulling on Kowalski, who mumbled in protest, something about biscuits. Newt was forced to a stop as well, looking back at her questioningly.

"My friend is in there," Newt said calmly, pointing to the door and trying to seem much more relaxed about the situation than he actually was.

"Look, I don't know how close you are to this friend of your, but that place is the worst bar in Manhattan!" Tina hissed. "Werewolves, vampires, backdoor deals, gambling, illegal hooch... If it's illegal, it goes on in there. We can't take a No-Maj in there!"

"He's quite unaware of what's going on around him," Newt reminded her. "And besides, there's really nothing for it." He pushed the door open and this time Tina was the one scrambling to recover as he started to haul Jacob inside.

The Cactus Cat Lounge was exactly as he had imagined it. There were elements of roughness, of course, lingering in the darkened corners, the warped boards on the floor, the faint scorch marks on the bar from spells gone wrong, the haze of smoke in the air. But up on the stage there was Iliana Velikova in a glittering mint green dress and pearls, the wooden tabletops gleamed, there were glasses, some empty, some full, flying to and from the bar out to customers, and the brass fixtures gleamed. It was obvious that the owner took pride in the place, even more so when Newt watched a man flick a cigarette butt carelessly to the ground, only for it to seem to stop in midair, hover for a moment, and then settle itself into the ash tray on the table which gave an angry rattle at being ignored.

"Ah, Ellie, another..."

The voice drew his eye to the bar, and there she was. Elvira's hair was pinned back tightly in a braided bun, a couple of loose bits having come loose to frame her face, and her mouth was painted a brilliant red. She was wearing a starched white button-front shirt and arm garters that matched her topaz waistcoat. In fact, it was nearly the same color as his. She was smiling, one hand lingering on the head of a cane resting against the bar on her side while the other was perched on her hip. She was shaking her head at the man who'd spoken, a man with the sallow face and scarred hands of a seasoned brewer who didn't see enough sun.

"What's her name this time?" Elvira asked him knowingly, her eyes flicking to the cluster of new customers by the door as she reached for a bottle of firewhiskey.

The bottle hit the ground with a crash that made the whole bar stop dead, turning to look at her, but Elvira wasn't paying attention. Iliana stopped singing, eyeing her sister and the newcomers curiously, before surprise and understanding washed over her face. Newt shyly slid away from Kowalski, leaving Tina to muscle him into a nearby chair, and stepped forward.

"Hello," he offered, the back of his neck and his ears going red at the attention. Many people were looking between him and Elvira, whose hand was still framing her grip on the bottle that was shattered around her feet.

"Oi, what are you lot staring at?" demanded the man Elvira had been about to serve. He waved his wand, letting out a series of sharp pops that startled everyone out of their stupor. "Crawl back in your glasses, the lot of you!"

Elvira shot the man a grateful look, and with a wave of her hand his empty glass began to fill up again. He took it and raised it to her in toast, but she was back to staring at Newt.

He had expected her to step out from behind the bar, but she did no such thing, and when she moved he wondered why he'd expected anything less. Her hands planted on the bar and in one smooth motion she vaulted across it, her boots thudding as they hit the floor heavily. The reason for her cane was obvious - she had a limp favoring one leg, and she'd left her walking stick behind by the bar as she crossed the room, mouth open loosely and just staring at him. Newt watched her approach silently, shoving his hands in his pocket to keep from wringing them nervously. Instinctively, he dipped his head to hide behind a tumble of ginger curls, eyes starting to slide away from her to the floor.

The pointed toe of her boots came to a stop a few feet from the end of his loafers and for a moment, nothing happened. Newt could feel the curious eyes of the other customers darting to them and away despite what the man at the bar had said, but Iliana was singing again and drawing eyes from them decently well.

"So, what, you came all the way to New York to stare at my floors, English?"

He'd heard her voice before - she'd put special effort into that - but it was very different hearing it come out of an open locket or a lurid red envelope. This time she was right there, and he could hear her soft inhale before she spoke, could hear the laughter in her voice clear as day.

Newt glanced up the length of her, a quick slide rather than a lingering stare despite the fact that he would have quite liked to stand there and take in all the details of her like she was an exotic creature he was studying. Her hands were on her cocked hips and one eyebrow was arched, a wry half-smile on her face as she stared at him expectantly, amusement glittering in her eyes.

"Better," she approved, and stuck out her right hand. "Good to finally meet you, English, I've been looking forward to it."

Pleasantries, he could do pleasantries without sticking his foot too far in his mouth. Newt reached out and took her hand to shake. It was callused and warm. "I have as well. I had h-hoped it would be..." his eyes darted, "a bit less of a mess when I finally did."

"Mess?" Her eyes finally slipped past him to the others who had followed him in. Newt watched as her eyes settled first on Kowalski with confusion and concern, and then slid to Tina, who was standing there with her hands crossed over her chest and a scowl on her face. Elvira's answering scowl was fierce enough to make Newt cringe.

"Funny, I seem to remember this place being raided because Jefferson Bardou, an unregistered werewolf, was spotted here, and you said you didn't know him," Tina said sharply. "But I'm pretty sure that's him playing cards with Maas Oldhof, who is _also_ wanted by MACUSA." She pointed damningly at a smoky corner of the room where a cluster of men were playing some kind of card games, with a few coins and a battered pocket watch sitting in the pot.

"Funny how you're suddenly such a stickler for the law now that you're not an Auror. Course, I suppose it might help you get your position back if you were the one to get the Cactus Cat shut down." Elvira arched an eyebrow and there was a mocking lilt to her tone as she asked, "Where'd you end up? Wand Registry, was it?" She smiled smugly.

Tina stepped forwards angrily "Listen here-"

In response, Elvira reached out her hand and made a snatching and yanking motion in the air. A sound like a church bell being rung echoed through the bar, drowning out Iliana's song. There was a moment of shock and then, with speed that made Newt's head spin with the realization that this was a practiced maneuver, everyone bolted. Some headed for a side door that led into the alleyway they had Apparated into, some bolted past them for the front door, and another group, including Oldhof and Bardou, slipped deeper into the building. In the space of thirty seconds the bar had entirely emptied of everyone except them.

The man who'd quieted everyone earlier was the last one out, dropping a scattering of coins on the bar before slowly swaggering toward the door.

"Swell night, Ellie, back tomorrow." He tipped an imaginary hat to her and then glanced at Tina. "Goldstein. Word of advice - Aurors aren't ever going to touch our girl here, so why don't you lot just take a flying leap, huh?" And with that he was gone, slamming the door behind him.

There was a sharp snap. Iliana had jumped down from the stage, abandoning the soft, sultry look she had adopted for her performance. She approached with an easy grace and, looking over her features, Newt could easily believe she was half-veela.

"Unless I miss my guess, that's a No-Maj you've got there," Iliana said calmly, nodding in Jacob's direction. "And one that is in need of some help."

"Hell," Elvira murmured. "What's wrong with him?" she asked, and moved forwards, breezing past Newt and approaching Kowalski in the chair. She crouched down and Newt caught sight of a twitch in her jaw as she did so, some joint letting out a faint pop. The cane really wasn't just for show. Newt desperately wanted to know what had happened, but this was hardly the time.

"Huh." She reached out and tugged the corner of Kowalski's collar away revealing the bite on his neck more fully. "I don't recognize this bite." Her eyes flicked to Newt questioningly.

"A murtlap," he replied swiftly, moving to her side and observing the bite. It was slightly inflamed and still red. Not surprising, considering it was still technically a fresh bite, but still. He would have liked it to be a bit less swollen though. "Ordinarily it wouldn't be a problem, but he seems to be having a bad reaction to it. I was h-hoping," he admitted bashfully, "I might be able to make use of your potions stores?" he asked hopefully.

Elvira looked up at him and grinned. "Say no more. I'll take it from here, Goldstein," she added, making a faint noise of discomfort as she pushed up into a standing position. There was a crooked grin on her face as she glanced back at Iliana.

"Go on, fix up the No-Maj, I'll lock up," Iliana assured her, waving her hands encouragingly.

"I can't just hand him off!" Tina insisted. "He's my responsibility! I especially can't hand him over to you!"

"Not up to you," Elvira replied with a wink and a shrug. "Go on home to Queenie, I'll mop up this mess."

"I can't..." Tina hesitated as Iliana moved forward, a wand gripped in her hand and a tight smile on her face. Tina paled. "You're not supposed to have a wand..."

"File it under crimes you've seen tonight that you can't report," Iliana replied lightly. "Now go on, shoo! Out, out, out!"

Newt was forced to watch in bemusement as Tina Goldstein was banished from the bar by the younger woman who waved her wand threateningly but never actually used it. Tina scampered backwards one step too far and the door slammed in her face, the lock clicking into place. Iliana looked over her shoulder and her sister and in that silent way siblings had - most siblings had, rather, Newt had never been lucky enough to share it with his brother - they had a whole conversation.

"Come on, English, fetch your No-Maj and I'll get you what you need," Elvira urged, waving a hand. A pair of bottles flew from behind the bar and she caught them in both hands, quickly shifting her grip to hold the necks of both between her fingers. One had a familiar hand-written label on it and the other held something dark brown in color.

"What are those for?" Newt asked as he dragged Kowalski's arm over his shoulder and turned to face her. Elvira winked at him wickedly.

"You and me. I promised you a couple of stories, and nothing makes a night of getting to know each other quite like a few drinks." She stretched out her hand in his direction and wiggled her fingers.

Newt stared at her, because he was utterly blown away by the fact that this... frankly wild sort of woman, who owned a bar and drank hard liquor and banished Aurors from her very illegal bar with barely a flutter of her wand looked so delighted at the prospect of spending the evening with him.

Newt took her hand with a faint smile of his own and ducked his head, hiding behind his fringe.

"Ellie!"

They looked up as Iliana took Elvira's cane from behind the bar and pitched it. Newt dropped Elvira's hand and caught it, presenting it to her shyly. She hooked it through her fingers before grabbing his wrist tightly.

"And off we go," she said cheerfully, pulling him into Side-Along Apparration.

It took Newt a moment to realize they hadn't appeared on her front step, as he would have expected, but that they were standing in the middle of her living room. Peering around, he noted that the place was well-furnished, but it was also definitely the sort of room where the focus was on functionality and furniture that would last over things that were expensive and stylish. Wood textures with reddish undertones and gem tones seemed to be the prevailing color scheme and there were little knickknacks scattered everywhere. His fingers itched to go and look more closely at the titles on the bookshelf to see what Elvira liked to read, or to wander over to small pile of papers sitting on an end table. There were a pair of strappy pumps, likely Iliana's, abandoned beside the couch, and an empty glass remained on the coffee table, the last dregs of what looked like tea in the bottom. It was a home that felt lived-in and warm.

Elvira took Kowalski's arm from him and led him to the couch, sitting him down on the cushions with a whump.

"Before you think I was too harsh on Goldstein, you should know that we have a history, her and I," she noted absently as she leaned down to move Jacob's collar away from the bite on his neck, frowning at it curiously. "I respect the hell out of her, but I don't like her all that much." She glanced up at him and offered a weak smile. "I'm sure I made a great first impression." She rolled her eyes at him self deprecatingly and grabbed the empty glass off the table, lifting the bottle of brownish liquid that was likely firewhiskey. She sloshed a generous measure into the glass and pressed it into Jacob's hands. "Here, you've had a helluva day. I think you deserve a nightcap."

As Jacob sipped his drink and gagged at the burning sensation, Elvira straightened up and approached Newt. He noticed that, now that it was back in her hand, she leaned heavily on her cane. While it may not have been entirely necessary for her to use all the time, it was clear that whatever had happened to her leg caused her a great deal of pain, which was surprising. Most magical healing methods patched a person right up without the usual aches and pains Muggle doctors might leave behind.

"What do you need?"

"Only a bit of dittany, if you have it," Newt assured her. "I have everything else I need."

She nodded and moved towards the hall that lead deeper into the apartment. Again, Newt was tempted to follow her, to dig deeper into who she was and her life. He'd felt so guilty for swooping in on her like that, with an Auror and a Muggle in the midst of an allergic reaction to a creature bite in tow, but she was handling it wonderfully, rolling with the punches and going about it as if this sort of thing happened to her every day. He did feel somewhat guilty about her having to close the bar to deal with him, though...

"You sweet on her?" Kowalski's words were slightly slurred and Newt looked down at him in surprise. There was a dopey smile on his face as the Muggle looked up at him, a knowing glint in his eyes. "I saw that."

"Saw what?" Newt asked defensively. "No, there's nothing between Miss Blodgarmr and I, nothing at all..."

"Uh huh." Kowalski nodded in a way that made it clear he didn't believe a word of what Newt was saying. "You keep telling yourself that, pal."

Newt flushed as he sat down on a chair and placed the case on the ground in front of himself, flicking the latches open. He looked from it to Kowalski nervously. "It doesn't matter. I... I doubt I'm quite what she expected. I've arrived a bit of a mess, you see?" He smiled weakly before standing from the chair and stepping down onto the ladder that led further into his case, where the remedy he needed would be. He heard Kowalski give a startled laugh above, and smothered his own laugh as the Muggle murmured in awe, "What's in that stuff she gave me?"

"English?"

The sound of Elvira calling his name - his nickname, and he would not start responding to his nationality, damn it, that was a bit too pathetic - above him made Newt pop his head out. Kowalski, in answer to Elvira's questioning stare, was pointing at the suitcase his head was currently sticking out of. With as much dignity as a man mostly inside of a battered suitcase could muster, Newt politely requested, "If you would both join me down here, please?"

There's a sparkle in Elvira's eye as she looks at him and says. "You know, I get the feeling you are going to be a lot more exciting than you gave yourself credit for in our letters." She moves to the couch to help guide Kowalski to his feet and Newt hastens out of the way as she steers the man to the open suitcase. Kowalski stares between it and her questioningly and she nods. It takes a few seconds of tugging and final spell from Newt on his in, but Kowalski makes it inside and Elvira eyes the steeply inclined stairs, more a ladder really, with a hint of nerves. Stairs, really, are her weak point and she's never quite as stable on them as she is on any kind of solid ground. Her knee had given out on stairs before, but usually only after a particularly intense day and night both spent on her feet. That wasn't the case this evening, but she still wasn't keen on the idea of possibly face-planting in front of Newt.

As it turned out, it wasn't an issue. His curly head popped into view and he looked up, seeing her hesitance. He lifted a hand up out of the suitcase and Elvira smiled as she took the first to steps, which lowered her enough to be able to grab hold of him. Her steps were quick but careful and she made her way to the bottom without trouble, lighting on a wooden floor and looking around curiously. There were field journals and textbooks everywhere, anatomy drawings that had obviously bee hand done, labelled bottles or both completed potions and ingredients, hand-rolled pills, scientific equipment, and anything else one could possibly need if one was going to roam the world doing things like rescuing trafficked thunderbirds or trying to save Obscurials. The door opposite the stairs faced outward promising more to this little pocket dimension Newt had created inside his suitcase. It was a wonderful, intensely tricky bit of spellwork, and she knew that from personal experience.

Elvira gave Newt a once over as he filled with a few bottles, pouring them together into a bowl. She was gratified to see the tips of his ears go pink as she concluded, " _Definitely_ more exciting than you gave yourself credit for."

* * *

"I can't do it," Credence moaned as Graves enfolded him in his arms.

"I believe in your Credence," the man murmured in his ear, and it felt good to be touched to be held. "You will be honored among wizards if you succeed in this, your name will be remembered forever. You will become the most important of us. I will teach you everything you need to know to be one of us."

Graves thought he meant that he was losing faith in his ability to find the child that the man sought. Credence was certain it could be accomplished, given the signs Graves had told him about. The problem was that he couldn't focus on those signs, not right now. All he could focus on was white-blonde hair and blue eyes looking at him sadly and three days,

* * *

Graves couldn't do the things he'd promised because Iliana had already done them. She was the one who took his hand and pulled him gently into her world of magic and wonder. She was the first person to press a wand into his hand and urge him to do something great with it, the first to explain the theories behind the magic, the reason why it worked the way it did. She was his mentor in a way Graves could never be.

But it felt so good to be touched kindly again...

"I want to give you this, Credence."

Graves was sliding a cord around his neck. It was long, and a pendant hung below his chest. It was a triangle cut in half by a line with a circle inside. He'd never seen a symbol like it. He'd have to ask Iliana about it, to see if it was something magically significant, _three days..._

"I would trust no one else with it," Graves flattered him. "When you find the child, touch it and I will come to you. Then this will all be over and I can take you away from your mother."

Yes. Yes, he would be leaving his Ma behind. Not with Graves, but with Iliana. In three days - two days, now, and he'd carefully avoided thinking that earlier today because then h would be trapped in a loop counting hours and minutes, everything would be okay.


	15. Chapter 15

Elvira leaned against one of the cabinets in Newt's shack, watching as he moved here and there, picking up bottles and plucking leaves from potted plants sitting around. He moved easily in this space and it was obvious that as unusual as the situation was he was comfortable here. More than that, he knew what he was doing. There was something enticing about watching him move so capably, mastering the situation as he smeared some of his concoction over the wound on Kowalski's neck, now clad in rolled-up shirtsleeves. He moved to a counter where a long quarter of pork was laid out, lifted a cleaver, and brought it down sharply. She watched as he skillfully broke down the meat, avoiding the bones with quick, sure cuts.

She glanced around at the walls, which were papered in maps and charts, detecting notes of everything from geography and anatomy to herbology and brewing. Some pages were crammed so tightly with notes she wondered at how he read them and others were accompanied by drawings. She leaned closer to one depicting a fwooper, a creature she was familiar with.

"Did you draw all of this?" Elvira asked, looking at the art, because from what she could tell it was all very accurate and well-done. Newt was a man of hidden talents, apparently including butchery and art.

"Hm?" Newt glanced up and saw what she was looking at. He blinked. "Oh, er, yes. I struggled to find accurate anatomical drawings of many of the creatures I worked with, and so I was often forced to make my own for reference."

"These things..." Kowalski did indeed seem to be recovering. The sweating was going down and he wasn't quite so red in the face as he had been a few minutes before. Instead, he was staring around at all of the different drawings in awe. "They all _exist?"_

"Crup, fwooper, Peruvian Vipertooth, grindylow…" Elvira recited for him, pointing to the drawings. That only made Jowalski stare at her with just as much disbelief as he'd been giving the pictures.

"You've seen these things?" he demanded incredulously, and Elvira threw her head back and laugh.

"Good Greylock no! I don't see anything here that's native to the US and magical law says we can't import or own magical creatures." She cast a glance over her shoulder to Newt knowingly. "You rebel."

Newt flushed and chuckled awkwardly, distracting himself by scooping the meat off of his chopping block and into a pail waiting beside his feet on the floor. He cleaned the blade with a quick spell and set it safely aside before picking up the bucket. He hesitated to pass it to Elvira, and instead pressed it into Jacob's hands.

"Take this." He said to Kowalski, but he was looking at Elvira, wanting desperately to show off his creatures to her. Here, finally, were people who might actually like them instead of asking why the hell he didn't just chuck his whole suitcase into a fire and destroy them all.

Meat prepared, Newt plucked up the small, folded form of the Swooping Evil in its little bundle of string. The thing was a bit flighty, and he intended to set up a habitat for him soon, but not until he calmed down some. The last thing Newt needed was a creature with a venom that messed with the mind loose in his suitcase. It was why he kept milking it, both for his own safety working with the creature and to study the properties of the venom and its potential application. Not that Newt was eager to see a mass market for Swooping Evil venom...

"Come on…" he urged gently, and he felt a body approach cautiously.

"What you got there?" Kowalski called, seemingly content to hang back and use his bucket of meat like a shield while Elvira crept closer.

"This the locals call Swooping Evil, not the friendliest of names," he admitted. "Its quite an agile fellow. I've been studying him. And I am pretty sure his venom could be quite useful if properly diluted. Just to remove bad memories, you know." A wicked little thought over came him and he turned, gently tossing the bundle under his arm. The Swooping Evil burst from its tiny form and flared its wings in Elvira's face while Newt kept a firm hold of its tail to keep it from actually reaching her. The wind buffeted the tendrils of hair around her face back and Kowalski recoiled a bit, but Elvira merely stared, fascinated. Newt tugged gently on the creature's tail and it obligingly coiled back up into its tiny form for him to replace in his pocket. "Probably shouldn't let him loose in here, though," he admitted with a shy grin.

Elvira beamed in reply. She knew that wasn't a slip, that Newt had done it on purpose, and it made her smile. He was loosening up a bit, and she liked what she saw. Newt with his shirt tails out what just as attractive as Newt all buttoned up, it seemed. And that Swooping Evil... such bright colors she'd never seen, with its leathery wings and shrill cry. The thing did look menacing but it was hard to be afraid when she watched Newt tuck it into his pocket like it was a bit of loose change, clearly trusting the creature.

"Come on," Newt urged them, and Elvira was quick on his heels, stepping outside and into a wide, open area. Kowalski, seemingly more so as he wasn't left behind than anything else, followed her out.

Elvira stared around in awe. Tarps held up on wooden frames formed habitats all around her, some with flashes of sand visible inside, others with snow. Some seemed to simply stretch on forever into the depths of the suitcase. There were creatures going here and there, mingling with one another, and in a strange way it all seemed like a very well-oiled machine despite the fact that the place was a bit messy, with odd tools set out and waiting by the creatures they were used for. She spotted diricrawls, mooncalves, fwoopers, grindylows floating in bubbles of water... any and every creature she'd ever read about and a few she'd never heard of were represented, with the fauna of the United States being the notable absence.

Newt stood before the closest habitat, one with red sand and high stacked rocks. Overhead a storm raged, lightning and thunder echoing around them, but Newt seemed utterly unconcerned, wand raised to keep the rain off of him as he looked up. Flaring gold wings, gleaming talons, clever yellow eyes, and a cry that could pierce for miles across the plains. The reason she and Newt had met.

"Come on. Down you come. Come on," Newt urged gently, and the storm faded as the thunderbird calmed, coming to roost on a claw-scared boulder just at the front of the habitat. the thunderbird lowered his head as Newt stowed his wand and reached out, stroking the massive, feathery head. "Oh, thank Paracelsus. If you'd have got out that could have been quite catastrophic. You see, he's the real reason I came to America. To bring Frank home."

"So this is him?" Elvira asked, and she itched to take a step forward but she also knew that a thunderbird could do real damage if it wasn't fond of you. Newt had obviously built a bond, but it wasn't as if Frank had been reading their letters back and forth and knew her from their words. The thunderbird had no idea who she was.

"Frank, this is Miss Elvira that I told you about," Newt murmured, and glanced over his shoulder at her. "She's the one who helped me patch you up."

"That's how we met," Elvira added to Jacob. "My father's name was given to Newt to advise him on caring for thunderbirds, but my father died. I replied and we just..." she shrugged, "kept writing."

Bolstered by her explanation, Kowalski took a step forwards and Frank gave a low, warning cry, his wings shuffling a little. Newt was quick to caution,

"No, sorry, stay there, he's a wee bit sensitive to strangers. Here you are, here you are," he added soothingly to the thunderbird as Jacob stepped back. "He was trafficked, you see. I found him in Egypt, he was all chained up. Couldn't leave him there, had to bring him back. I'm going to put you back where you belong, aren't I, Frank?" he asked, leaning his face against Frank's gently. "To the wilds of Arizona."

Newt reached into his pocket and pulled out a bit of meat. He flung it up into the air and, almost like a dog, Frank leaped after it, flaring his wings to get some height. He snapped his beak shut on his treat and rose higher, wings flaring. He would retreat to the top of one of his stone pillars to eat in peace and safety, Elvira mused, and probably take a bit of a rest. He was apparently very agitated before Newt arrived and calmed him, and no wonder.

"So you... you know about these things too?" Jacob asked her, and Elvira nodded.

"A bit. My father was the real magizoologist, but I do have an interest and I picked up a lot from him. I've never been this close to a thunderbird before though," she admitted, a smile stretching across her face irrepressibly. She crossed one arm over her chest to hide a bit of a shiver, something inside her feeling warm and proud. Thunderbirds were beautiful creatures and anyone who saw them would be struck, but for American wizards, who used them as the symbol for their country in place of the eagle the No-Majs favored, they had a special, patriotic significance. "The last time I saw one, Iliana and I raced it through a canyon on horseback. _That_..." she sighed at the memory, "was a _very_ good day."

Newt turned and raised his hands to his mouth, letting out a loud cry. Kowalski jerked back and stared at the man incredulously, but Elvira leaned forward in interest. She could not even begin to imagine what else Newt had down here and she was eager to see what he'd call next. Newt darted down from the rock he stood on and took the bucket from Jacob, urging them to follow as he approached a boulder taller than he was, giving that same cry again. This was one of the habitats that seemed to stretch into infinity, a desert at night with clouds drifting low in the distance. Elvira stood near the rock, squinting out over the sands as a sound lot unlike Frank's thunder began to roll in. This was different though, this was hoofbeats.

"Here they come."

"Here who comes?" Jacob asked incredulously. He moved to stand close to Elvira, apparently counting on her to protect him as the creatures moving across the sands came into view and grew larger and larger... and larger still.

"The graphorns," Newt announced as the closest one galloped up. It was half again as tall as Newt and that was enough to make Jacob cry out in fear and turn to run. Newt caught his arm, soothing him as if he were one of Newt's creatures.

"You're all right. You're all right."

On this one, Elvira didn't blame him. The graphorns were likely the ugliest creatures she'd ever seen, large and hump-backed, with grayish-purple skin that looked incredibly tough. It had two golden horns and walked on large four-thumbed feet. Its mouth was made of tentacle-like appendages which it used to rub across Newt's face and shoulders in some kind of greeting.

"Hello, hello!" he added to the animal as it touched him, two younger graphorns and another adult arriving at the edge of the habitat. One of the younger ones began to circle Jacob curiously as Elvira stepped up to the larger one next to Newt and cautiously reached out, offering a palm. The graphorn switched its attention to her and she was surprised to find that the tentacles didn't feel nearly as slimy as they looked like they'd be. Instead, they were warm and smooth, reminding her of sun-warmed leather. It was pleasant, almost like a massage, as the tentacles roamed up her arms and shoulders. As one began to reach curiously for her mouth, though, she stretched her head away and took a small step back.

The graphorn that had been circling Jacob crossed behind her as she moved, and with its smaller size it hit her right at the knee. Elvira gave a small cry as she toppled, cane flying from her hand. She landed with a puff of sand flat on her back, wincing and glad that the sand at least provided something of a cushion, even if it did leave her feeling unpleasantly gritty now.

"Are you alright?" Newt asked worriedly, his face appearing before her. Elvira opened her mouth to respond but spluttered as she got a face full of curious tentacles from the younger of the graphorns.

"No, no, we must be gentle," Newt reproached the animal, gently peeling its tentacles away from her. Elvira was laughing as he did. It felt oddly ticklish and the situation was just so ridiculous - she was sprawled out in a suitcase with a foreign animal, a No-Maj, and a magizoologist. It sounded like the punchline to a joke.

Newt pressed her cane back into her hand and took her other arm, helping her to her feet. She stepped off the sand and onto the wooden floor that seemed to cover most of the suitcase, finding it a safer place for her to stand.

"I'm fine, English, I've had far worse spills than that," she assured him, waving off his concern. She wrinkled her nose and raised one hand, sketching a quick rune in the air with fingers glowing red. There was a faint pulse and all the sand sloughed off of her as if she'd suddenly stepped into a shower. "Why did you take these?" she asked curiously. Normally, an animal would only be removed from the wild if some defect would keep them from surviving. Unless, like Frank, they had been trafficked and Newt had spared them that, but honestly she wasn't entirely sure why one would want to traffic a graphorn. What would be the market for it? They weren't particularly pretty to look at, like a fwooper, or had magical properties that she knew of, like a re'em.

"They're the last breeding pair in existence," Newt explained as one of the two young graphorns ran its tentacles hopefully across his palm. He pulled a bit of meat from the bucket and handed it over absently. "If I hadn't managed to rescue them, that could have been the end of graphorns, forever."

Jacob gaped at him, and Elvira's jaw was just as loose. "What, you rescue these creatures?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, that's right. Rescue, nurture, and protect them, and I'm gently trying to educate my fellow wizards about them," he added with a bit of a wince, and Elvira could understand why. One only had to look at MACUSA's laws to realize magical creatures definitely got the short end of the stick.

As Newt moved to continue his chores, Elvira followed him up a set of red-painted stairs that led into what looked like the opening of a rocky cave settled in the middle of the room. Elvira took a moment to note that it had to be a pocket dimension in a pocket dimension, which was a seriously impressive bit of spellwork, before she murmured,

"You know, English, if I saved a species from extinction, I don't think I'd be as calm about it as you are," she murmured as they mounted the stairs. Newt looked back at her, something like hope filling him. He was fully aware that the graphorns were perhaps the most visually unappealing of his creatures but Elvira hadn't seemed to mind them. More than that, she didn't ask why he didn't just let them die off. In fact, when he looked at her, all he read on her features was... approval. Encouragement. Delight. He'd seen her eyes darting all around to his many creatures as they passed other habitats, saw her faint smiles as she beheld some she was obviously fond of.

"It needed to be done," Newt said simply. "I couldn't just let them die off. How terrible would that be, to lose an entire species?"

"Not many think that way. Most would look at your creatures and see dumb animals. They wouldn't care."

"They're not dumb," Newt insisted a bit hotly, noting the faint plucking of the fabric on his shirt as Pickett made his way out from his waistcoat and began to move about his sleeve. "Anyone who spends a bit of time with them can see that. They have... personalities, temperaments. They're all unique, and some of them have had their moments when I first came across them, certainly, but that some who had been abused by people before were willing to trust me speaks to more capacity for forgiveness than some humans are capable of. It's brutal to stamp something so... good... out..." Newt trailed off, suddenly bitterly aware that he was rambling. He felt his cheeks go pink as Elvira stared at him, and he was glad of the distraction as Pickett slid down to wrap his spindly arms around Newt's wrist.

"Titus?" he called, stepping into the bamboo. "Finn? Poppy, Marlow, Tom?" He glanced back at Jacob, who was just stumbling after them and staring around in awe. It made him smile to see that the No-Maj appreciated his creatures. In some way, more than wizards. "He had a cold. He needed some body warmth."

"A clever idea," Elvira noted, staring at the small wand wood tree in a pot that Newt was approaching. She'd know a few people who kept bowtruckles as something like pets, but those poor souls were usually relegated to a tank with some leaves and twigs, like some bug plucked from the garden.

As Newt tried to coax the bowtruckle onto the tree, Elvira turned to Jacob and explained, "It's a bowtruckle, a tree sprite. They eat mostly wood lice, and most of the time they live in trees with wood that has the qualities needed for making wands. They're defensive of their homes, though, so it's not uncommon to see a wandmaker or a wand wood dealer with scars from bowtruckles on their hands. See their little fingers? They're entirely peaceable until someone starts messing with their tree."

"They're... kinda cute," Jacob noted, and she smiled in agreement.

"Yes, they are, but unfortunately, because they're small and easy to traffic, they tend to get put in abusive situations fairly often. Their fingers can be used to pick locks, or people will buy them and stuff them in a tree to guard their home. I found a whole lot of them, actually tied with string to a tulip poplar down in Georgia once. I nearly skinned that man for it, too." She scowled heartily, recalling that incident when she'd gone to consult with a man her father knew by reputation as a dealer of particularly hard-to-find enchanted objects. It wasn't surprising that his house was heavily wared given the value of what was inside, but the little bowtruckle guards had broken her heart and she'd smuggled the whole band out in her carpet bag when she left.

"Do you... do you all keep suitcases full of animals on you?" Jacob asked her blankly, and Elvira threw her head back and laughed as he continued uncertainly, "Is animals even the right word?"

"Beasts is the classification most often used," she explained. "Goes back to the medieval bestiaries. But magical creatures is more appropriate. If they're from the United States, then the term we use is fearsome critters. And no, we don't all cart a zoo around with us, Newt is just special."

"So you don't... I don't know, take these things in too?"

Elvira glanced at him slyly. "Now did I say that? But owning things like this, even for rehabilitation purposes, is illegal in the United States. If Newt were caught, he would likely be given a maximum sentence and his creatures would be destroyed." Her face fell and Jacob looked around at all the magical, wonderful things around him, and then pictured a dark-robed figure pointing one of those wands at them all and killing them. It made him shudder.

"What's the maximum sentence?" Jacob asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer. "I mean, do you people have jails?"

"We do," Elvira admitted slowly. "But for this many creatures? For some that can be dangerous? In this climate? It... wouldn't surprise me if Newt were killed."

Jacob looked at her incredulously. "Killed? You people have the death penalty for things like that?"

Elvira smiled at him humorlessly. "That and more."

"All right, I'm coming, I'm coming." Newt moved off in the direction of faint chirping and like they were on strings, Jacob and Elvira followed, peering over his shoulder into a spherical nest where many occamies rested amongst the remains of their shells, crying for attention. "Mum's here. Mum's here."

There was something intensely adorable about Newt calling himself mum to his creatures, and also almost comforting. Elvira had met many a person who illegally raised beasts in the United States and aside from a frail old woman who had an absolute passel of teakettlers out in Nebraska, they almost invariably tended to be gruff men who flaunted their scars and injuries as badges of honor, even when they were likely got by behaving stupidly around the animals in question. The men with the most grievous wounds, who were so proud of their missing fingers and scarred faces, were often the ones who had no business being around animals.

Newt was the complete antithesis of that. Well-dressed, meek, but skillful in the extreme. He was an expert in his field in the way true Masters were, with easy grace and unshakable confidence as he moved around animals that could quite easily kill him, and the trust that his animals had in him in turn spoke volumes. While they might withdraw from Elvira or Kowalski for lack of familiarity, Newt didn't hesitate to plunge his arms into a nest of freshly-hatched occamies and they didn't so much as hiss in his direction.

"I know these guys!" Kowalski said, pleased to finally recognized something. Newt lifted one out, the coils of its body slipping and sliding in his cupped palms, and offered it to Jacob with a smile.

"Your Occamy."

"What do you mean..." Jacob stared at him. " _My_ Occamy?"

"Yes, do you want to…?" Newt asked, nudging his hands in Jacob's direction.

"Yeah, sure." Jacob couldn't contain his eagerness as he held out his hands. These were quite a bit prettier to look at that graphorns, and they weren't five times his size either. He cupped his hands like Newt had his and the occamy was gently shifted over to his palms. Newt thrust his hands back into the nest to check over the others and make sure they had no signs of any birth defects or were struggling in any way. Elvira moved closer to his side, peering in. There were roughly half a dozen all sitting in neat coils looking up at Newt. Elvira, without thinking, laid a hand on Newt's shoulder as she leaned over.

"Sweet Sayre, they're gorgeous, look at the coloring," she murmured. "English, you're an absolute gem, you really are."

Newt's cheeks went charmingly pink at that and she glanced at him, smirking faintly when she saw the color start to creep up to his ears. Adorable indeed. It was a pleasure to see that she could keep him on his toes as much as he did to her. After all, it wasn't every man she met who carted around occamies in his suitcase.

"It's nothing, really, I just-"

"Hey!"

They both jerked around and saw Jacob with a hand drawn back, the occamy slithering on his palm with a hint of agitation.

"No, sorry, don't pet them," Newt warned. "They learn to defend themselves early. See, their shells are made of silver so they're incredibly valuable. Okay. Their nests tend to get ransacked by hunters." Jacob slowly shifted the occamy back from his hands to Newt to place back with the rest of its siblings. "Thank you."

"Mr. Scamander?" Jacob asked, brushing his hands off and turning to look around at the general magical wonder of Newt's suitcase.

"Call me Newt."

"Not English?" Elvira asked softly, leaning into the nest, dropping her voice low, and again Newt's cheeks toasted.

"Well, I suppose..."

"Newt, I don't think I'm dreaming," Jacob continued, and Elvira looked up at him with a faint smile.

"What gave it away?" she asked archly.

"I ain't got the brains to make this up."

Elvira smothered a laugh at that and Newt pointed, giving Jacob a chance to explore a bit more.

"Actually, would you mind throwing some of those pellets in with the Mooncalves over there?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Just over there…"

Elvira glanced in the direction he was pointing. Mooncalves were a fairly tame species, they didn't tend to attack unless there was a real, life-threatening thing in front of them, and even then only if they were in a herd. Overall, they were friendly and not entirely afraid of people, especially if they approached with food. There was very little chance of something going wrong there, but what confused her slightly was that there was a distinctly Asian flare to the mooncalf habitat. It wasn't entirely incorrect, the creatures were found all over the world, but it did seem a bit of an odd choice... until she saw the bridge.

"You have a moon bridge to your mooncalves," Elvira said delightedly, and Newt straightened up from the occamies, looking around at her in surprise.

"You're the first one that's gotten that!"

"Oh, that's hilarious!" she cried, throwing her head back and laughing. "You're a clever one, English!"

"Thank you, Elvira. Would you... like to help me feed the nundu?"

Elvira's eyes widened. She reached out, grabbing his forearm tightly. "You have a nundu?" She stared at him incredulously. "Is that even a question? _Yes,_ I want to help you feed the nundu!"

"You mentioned you'd never been to Africa," Newt recalled as he gripped the wheelbarrow full of meat that would be required to feed the massive beast, already cut up and waiting under preserving charms. Elvira walked at his side as they moved through the case. "I thought perhaps you might like to see an African animal."

Elvira smiled a bit sadly. "Yes, of course, since I'll never be getting there under my own power."

"You really can't break the terms of your sentence?" Newt asked, hesitating before adding, "Of course, I'm not advocating breaking the law, but... couldn't you just leave?"

Elvira gave him a look. "If I could, you think I would be here? I don't exactly love New York City. It's fine enough, but it's too crowded for me. No, if I could leave I would have done it already, but the binding charms are too much even for me."

"Binding charms?" Newt asked as he began the hike up the rock where the nundu was lounging, grunting as the wheelbarrow began to fight him against the terrain. "So you're... cursed?"

Elvira tucked her cane under her arm and unbuttoned her sleeves with quick flicks of her wrists. She pushed her sleeves up to her elbows and then smacked her forearms together sharply, the smooth insides of her arms displayed for him to see. For a moment, runes blazed red and inflamed against her skin and then slowly faded, leaving afterimages Newt had to blink away. He stared at her in horror as she rolled down her sleeves and began to button them back up.

"That's barbaric," he whispered.

The spells holding her in place were bound not to an item or anything like that. No, the runes had been spelled into her flesh meaning that, short of cutting off her own arms, there was nothing Elvira could do to get away from them and they wouldn't simply wear out. The runes would feed off of her own magical energy, keeping her in place until someone from MACUSA chose to remove them, and the way Elvira spoke, it sounded as if she had been given a life sentence.

"What did you _do?"_ It was a question he'd been wanting to ask and he was aware that here in front of Jacob wasn't exactly the ideal time for it, but the question slipped out anyway. Elvira's lips pinched together into a tight line as Newt tossed chunks of meat to the nundu. It caught them casually, tossing it up into the air and swallowing it whole. He quickly added, "I'm sorry, it's none of my..."

"I was part of the Irregular Medics."

Newt's eyes widened. Anyone who'd been even tangentially involved in the war on the magical side of things had heard of the Irregular Medics. They were a group from all over the world that had come together. They made their way into the middle of battlefields, walking bravely through No Man's Land under Disillusionment Charms, and scooped up injured troops, applying potions and spells and helping to subtly return them to their people. They were in front of the front lines, and because they were from all over and fell under no one's purview, no one could tell them to stop. Being American, a country that had abstained from sending magical forces into the war, Elvira had, as part of the magical community, been strictly forbidden from joining the war effort, not considering that unlicensed application of memory charms were the only things that kept the Irregulars from breaking the Statute of Secrecy into rubble. Some countries saw the Irregulars as heroes, others as dangerous loose cannons, but none had been able to damn the group for their actions.

"Is that...?" Not quite intentionally, Newt's eye drifted to the leg she favored. Elvira, luckily, didn't take offense to it, merely laughed weakly.

"Don't stand near shells when they go off, English, it's bad for your health. No-Maj's found me and hauled me back, had no idea who the hell I was or how I got out there, but they were keen to patch me up and, sadly, No-Maj medicine doesn't do quite as well as Skele-Gro."

Newt's eyes widened as he realized. She had been taken away by Muggle medics, and lost her group of Irregulars. They likely assumed she'd either already left, or had been shot down. With no recourse left and likely in too much pain to manage a good enough memory charm on the multiple people that, by that point, had seen her, Elvira had been stuck with the Muggle way of healing. After a certain point, the only alternative would have been to rebreak her leg and set in the magical way, and even then it likely wouldn't fix everything.

"How did you get home?" Newt asked blankly.

"I got put on a boat with a couple of guys who were being discharged for injuries," Elvira replied, lowering her eyes. "Somehow, MACUSA actually managed to put the pieces together when my name came through on a list of passengers coming back from the front - they were checking manifests back then to try and keep witches and wizards from sneaking off to fight, but people just used fake names where they could. When I got off the boat on my crutches, the Aurors were waiting for me. I was taken in and charged with breaking the Statue of Secrecy, defying a presidential decree, illegal traveling, and whole host of other minor charges. Sometimes, I wonder what my sentence would have been if my name wasn't Blodgarmr?" she admitted wryly, and Newt stared.

It was, in a way, not so dissimilar to the pureblood rhetoric being espoused by Grindelwald. Elvira was suffering from the rest of the magical communities perception of her because of her surname. Because of something that her ancestor did hundreds of years ago, she had received a harsher sentence for something that, frankly, sounded heroic. It made Newt feel sick in the pit of his stomach, and it also made him feel painfully inadequate. This was a woman who risked life and limb to break the law and work as a medic in the most dangerous parts of the war, and he was a kook. What in Merlin's name was he doing daring to expect anything more from her than she'd already given, namely her letters and her time?

"It doesn't help if I tell you I'm sorry, does it?" Newt said quietly.

Elvira shook her head wryly. "Not like it's your fault my stupid self wasn't paying attention and got shelled. The fact of the matter is, I'd resigned myself to being stuck in New York for the rest of my life. Anything new and exciting I get to see has to come here. But this?" She gestured around the interior of his suitcase, and, to Newt's great surprise, to him as well as she smiled. "Damn, English. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect something like you to show up in my life."


	16. Chapter 16

"I truly appreciate you coming with me," Newt said for the third time as they all headed toward Central Park in search of one of his missing beasts. Elvira merely rolled her eyes and assured him,

"It's no trouble, English. I wouldn't want to see any of your creatures get caught and destroyed by MACUSA."

"Sorry you can't do your little, uh, teleporting thing because of me," Kowalski added sheepishly.

"It wouldn't be a good idea considering what you've been through today," Newt admitted. "But it's no trouble. I'm glad to get to see more of New York. I've never been here before."

"Once this is all squared away, I'll show you the sights by daylight," Elvira added, her can tapping gently as she walked by Newt's side, Jacob leading the way.

"That would be lovely," Newt said, imagining wrapping up the last few of his creatures that had gone rogue and then spending the entire day strolling through New York City with Elvira at his side, showing him her little corner of the world. The only corner of the world she was allowed. Newt recalled the sight of the runes etched into her skin like inflamed wounds, glowing brilliant red, and felt sick once more.

In a quest for something lighter, he asked Kowalski, "Why did you decide to be a baker?"

Kowalski seemed a little surprised, but replied, "Well... because I'm dying in that canning factory. Everyone there's dying." He sighed. "It just crushes the life outta you. You like canned food?"

"No."

"Does anyone?" Elvira asked, one corner of her lip wrinkling up.

"That's why I want to make pastries, you know. It makes people happy," he grinned faintly and pointed, "Come on, we can go this way."

They darted across the street and Newt glanced uncertainly to the side at the sound of Elvira's uneven gate. She didn't seem to be struggling, but it had to be difficult for her to be walking this far especially after already being on her feet half the night behind the bar. But when his eyes flicked up, he saw her looking at him with an arched eyebrow, a knowing, challenging gleam in her eyes. Newt flushed, knowing he'd been caught out, and that she knew exactly what he was thinking.

"So did you get your loan?" Newt scrambled, and Elvira smothered a smile. It was sweet of him to worry after her, but he was clever enough to know she wouldn't have taken kindly to him fluttering over her and trying to tend to her like one of his freshly-hatched occamies.

"No," Kowalski scoffed. "I ain't got no collateral. Stayed in the army too long, apparently, I don't know." He threw up his hands irritably.

"You fought in the war?" Newt queried, and got a sideways look.

"Of course I fought in the war, everyone fought in the war. _She_ probably fought in the war," Kowalski chuckled, gesturing to Elvira, who snickered. "Wait, you didn't fight in the war?"

"I worked mostly with dragons," Newt replied, and when Kowalski gave him yet another one of those staggered looks he'd been getting from the Muggle all night, Newt clarified, "Ukrainian Ironbellies, Eastern Front."

"English," Elvira said abruptly, catching his arm and pulling him to a stop. Newt looked back at her questioningly and she pointed at the ground in front of them, where small bits of crystal and brass fittings, looking like they'd been looted from an elaborate chandelier, littered the sidewalk. "You said your niffler likes sparkly things, correct?"

"He's here somewhere," Newt murmured, slowly creeping along the damp pavement, peering into the nooks and crannies of the shopfronts along the side of the road. "Or at least, he was."

It was Kowalski who spotted him, slowly raising a finger and pointing into the window of a jewelry store. "Uh, Newt?"

Perched on one of the display stands, an elaborately-jeweled necklace draped over its arm, stood the niffler. Elvira stared. The thing was about the size of a small melon and was stock-still, obviously trying to avoid being caught. Newt stared at the animal, thoroughly unimpressed, and as he did, the necklace slowly slipped off its outstretched arm, the sound of the jewelry clattering against the carved stand muffled through the glass.

The niffler snatched the necklace and darted out of the window display back into the depths of the store and Newt drew his wand.

"Finestra."

The glass dissolved into sand and Newt went flying inside, and Elvira saw what he meant about him being a bit clumsy, because she certainly could have thought of a better way to do this than what Newt was doing. He was yanking open drawers, trying to figure out where the creature had gotten to, when it climbed up his arm and used his shoulder to jump up onto a display on the counter. Newt jumped up onto the counter and made a swipe for the niffler. The little kleptomaniac leaped and caught the chandelier, and Newt, in a move Elvira was certain made perfect sense to him, did the same thing so that both of them were hanging from the slowly-revolving chandelier.

"Lord," Kowalski whimpered, looking up and down the street nervously, but the few pedestrians still out this late seemed to be too far down the road to notice them.

A moment later though, the chandelier ripped free from the ceiling under Newt's weight and there was an ungodly shattering and crashing sound that made Elvira wince and looked heavenward as man, niffler, and chandelier hit the ground in a heap.

As Newt continued to climb over and ruin the interior of the jewelry store, Elvira and Jacob both found their eyes drawn to his case, left sitting innocently on the sidewalk, as one clasp on it flicked open and a loud roar echoed from inside. Kowalski looked up at Elvira in horror.

"Uh...?" he asked nervously, and Elvira responded by flicking her wrist sharply and slamming the catch back into place from a distance. Kowalski breathed a sigh of relief, and at that moment Newt and the niffler crashed through the other window of the shop, the pair of them riding on top of an expensive wooden display case. The display case exploded on the ground, flinging rings and bracelets and necklaces in every direction. They both hit the ground and rolled, the niffler recovering faster and diving for the road, trying to make an escape.

"For the love of... _accio!"_ Elvira barked, and the niffler scrambled at the asphalt for purchase as it was yanked backwards back into her waiting palm. Elvira wrapped her fingers tightly around the niffler's middle. It whined pitifully, looking up at her with big, sad eyes, and even sniffled a bit. "Oh no, don't even try that." The niffler whimpered again, clasping its hands together under its chin pleadingly and Elvira chortled.

"Oh, you're adorable, don't get me wrong, but I like your momma better." And with that, she turned and proudly presented Newt with her handful of thieving fur. "I believe this is yours?"

 _"Hands up!"_

And, of course, that was how the police found them, fires squealing on the road as the police cars slammed to a stop and ordinary No-Maj cops flooded out arms with shotguns. Kowalski, with his hands in the air, Newt with one hand outstretched, Elvira holding the niffler out with her cane standing perfectly upright on the sidewalk where she'd left it, and all of them covered in jewelry.

"They went that way officer," Jacob offered, which would have been more convincing if a tennis bracelet hadn't chosen that moment to slide off his head and down the front of his face.

"What... is that thing?" as one of the cops uncertainly, looking at the niffler.

Kowalski took that moment to offer up a considerably more convincing distraction, pointing down the sidewalk. "Lion," he gulped, and it was made all the more convincing by the actual lion slowly prowling down the sidewalk like it belonged there.

"Well, that at least means we're on the right track," Elvira offered, and stretched out her hand. Her cane smacked into her palm, she turned and hooked her arms through Newt's and Jacob's, and then turned and stepped into nothingness.

They emerged in the open, snowy fields of Central Park, standing just on the opposite side of a small stone footbridge on the road leading to the zoo.

"Only place that lion could have come from is the zoo, and if it's loose I'm betting its because whatever of yours broke in there did a hell of a number on the place," Elvira guessed, pointing to the brick walls surrounding the place not far away. "Here's this, by the way," she said, and offered the niffler to Newt, who snatched it up and pointed a finger at it sternly.

"You and I are going to be having a conversation later," he informed the niffler, which slumped defeatedly in his grip and allowed itself to be replaced in the suitcase without much fuss.

Elvira, her attention caught by something shiny, reached out and plucked up a chain that was draped over Newt's shoulder. It was silver and dangling from it was a decent-sized ovular pendant, a black stone in the middle surrounded by concentric geometric designs made of tiny blue and yellow semi-precious gems. Newt turned around when he felt the tug at his collar and raised his eyebrows in shock when he saw her standing there, the necklace dangling off one finger pointedly.

"Souvenir?" she asked lightly, and Newt flushed.

"Er, a gift?" he offered weakly. "Thanks for continuing to exchange letters with a mess like me?" He offered a quick, hesitant grin and was pleased when Elvira chuckled and handed over the necklace obligingly, turning to present her back to him.

"You're sweet, though it wasn't exactly much of a burden on my part. Put it on me?"

Newt flushed, carefully undoing the clasp and fitting it around her throat, allowing himself a single moment to delight in how nice she smelled - cedar, hard liquor, and something electric, masculine scents, but it still made him feel light-headed - as he closed the clasp and let the pendant fall to hang against her chest. She turned and presented herself to him, looking down and trailing her fingers over the jewelry.

"You shouldn't have," she said coyly, and Elvira knew most people wouldn't have been pleased to be offered a necklace that was technically stolen property, but she wasn't one to be picky about that sort of thing. It certainly had a story behind it, and a funny memory besides, which made it an excellent gift in her opinion.

"Uh, I hate to interrupt," Jacob interjected, pointing in the direction of the zoo. "But I think there's an ostrich heading for us."

"Technically, that's an emu," Newt supplied as he nudged Elvira out of the way, Jacob plastering himself against the rail on the other side of the bridge. The emu raced past them, letting out a warbling cry as it went and flaring its wings.

"Your critters," Elvira supplied, forcing down the blush that had risen when she felt Newt's breath against the back of her throat and felt his fingers brush against the baby hairs at the nape of her neck. "We should..."

"We should," Newt agreed, and reached into his coat, pulling from a pocket a helmet that by all normal estimation should not have fit in such a small pocket, but magic covered many faults. He passed it to Jacob, urging him, "Put this on."

"Why would I have to wear something like this?" Jacob asked, looking understandably a bit nervous about being handed protective gear.

"Because your skull is susceptible to breakage under immense force," Newt supplied, and Elvira found herself rolling her eyes for the second time in ten minutes.

"English, we need to talk about your bedside manner after this is done."

It might have been difficult to get into the zoo. Understandably, the place was locked up tight after it closed for the day and all the workers went home. The goal was to prevent any of the animals from getting loose or someone coming in and stealing them.

However, when a massive hole had been broken through the side of the brick wall, all bets were off.

Newt pulled a padded chest protector from another improbably small pocket, shaking it out and pressing it into Kowalski's hand.

"Okay, if you just, pop this on."

"Okay," Kowalski said, looking like he wasn't about to refuse any sort of protective gear but also was really not okay with how much of the stuff he was being handed, and Elvira couldn't blame him.

"Now, there's absolutely nothing for you to worry about," Newt said, in complete odds with the way he was securely fastening the chest protector behind Jacob's back.

"Tell me, has anyone ever believed you when you told them not to worry?" Jacob asked sarcastically.

"My philosophy is that worrying means you suffer twice," Newt said, which again was probably not as supportive as he'd meant for it to be.

They stepped through the rubble, picking their way carefully over the scattered pieces of wall and bits of broken brick. There were several creatures still in cages looking incredibly put off by the massive erumpent that had broken in. The erumpent had corner in its enclosed a male hippopotamus. Elvira had never realized that an erumpent could look terrified, but this one was somehow managing it.

"She's in season," Newt explained, digging in his pocket and pulling out a vial. He pulled the stopped out with his teeth and spat it aside, dabbing a bit of whatever was in the bottle on his wrists. "She needs to mate. Erumpent musk," he added at seeing Jacob's confused look. "She is mad for it." He passed the bottle to Jacob to hold and added, "Er, might want to stay back for this bit..."

Elvira stared as Newt stepped out into the open walkways, placing his suitcase on the ground and lifting the lid. What followed was perhaps the most simultaneously hilarious, adorable, and downright shameless thing she had ever seen as Newt offered up his erumpent musk-covered wrists and performed a mating dance. It came complete with grunts, snorts, and moans, and involved him taking huge, stomping steps, tossing his head, even flipping back the tail of his coat and presenting his backside to the intrigued erumpent. Finally, he dropped to the ground and rolled, hopping up and looking at the erumpent expectantly. The erumpent hit her knees with a thud that shook the entire zoo and began to roll towards the case.

"Good girl… Come on, into the case," Newt urged quietly.

"I am going to tease him mercilessly for this," Elvira breathed, and staggered into Kowalski as something suddenly struck her on the head. "What the hell?" she cried, quite a bit louder than she meant to, and the faint shattering sound made her freeze in horror.

Slowly, she and Jacob mad eye contact, and both their gazes dropped to the shattered bottle of erumpent musk soaking into the snow between their feet. Both of them slowly looked up, locking eyes with the other.

"Oh no," Jacob whimpered, and they slowly turned to look at the erumpent, who was on her feet and staring at the both of them with hearts in her eyes. Behind them, a seal apparently sensed the mood. It gave a nervous bark before turning and fleeing the scene as fast as its flippers could carry it.

"Abigail Williams," Elvira swore, and dove to the side, landing painfully in a pile of bricks as the erumpent charged. She winced, feeling the broken edges tear into the sensitive skin of her palms, and her bad leg throbbed badly as she caught the corner of a piece of rubble with her kneecap. The erumpent thundered past her, shaking the ground and sending the bricks shifting under her as she tried to rise. Gasping in pain, she scrambled to flip over and try to make sense of where everyone had gone, only to see the remains of the wall giving up the ghost after that last pass from the erumpent.

Elvira cried out, making a quick seal with her hands, and throwing her palm forward. The bricks caught themselves midair and began to slowly fit themselves back into place, glowing with a pinkish energy that matched what was around her hands.

Newt rushed to her side, taking her elbow and gently lifting her to her feet. "Are you alright?" he asked, unable to quite put into words the sheer amount of terror that had flooded him upon seeing Elvira almost squashed under the falling bricks. His heart was still going a mile a minute as he ran his hands all over her, for once putting his own nerves aside in favor of making sure nothing was wrong with her, not even a hangnail.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Elvira assured him, although that was a lie. She was going to be feeling that crash-landing onto bricks tomorrow unless she managed to get a healthy does of muscle relaxer and anti-inflammatory potions in her before the night was over. "Don't worry about me."

"You were almost crush under falling bricks, I feel that's a very valid reason to worry over someone you care about," Newt responded snappishly, his own nerves making him short, and there was a heavy moment between the two of them as Newt realized his hands were on her cheeks, turning her face up to his to examine her for any cuts or bruises there, and Elvira had one hand hooked over his elbow to balance on the rubble underneath her.

"Newt!" Kowalski yelled from outside the zoo, and the pair of them jumped, scrambling out through the rapidly-closing hole in the brick wall, Elvira's spell piecing the whole thing back together slowly in their wake.

Jacob had, somehow, managed to climb up a bare-branched tree that looked like it was half dead. He was dangling upside down from a branch while the female erumpent pranced with surprising lightness for a creature its size, looking eager. The base of the tree trunk was bubbling ominously, slowly expanding as a glow built within the depths of the aged wood.

"Oh, that's extremely very not good," Elvira said faintly.

The base of the tree exploded, sending the trunk toppling. Kowalski hit the snow and rolled as the erumpent gave a triumphant bugle and began to rush at him again. Jacob scrambled to his feet with a cry and staggered out onto the iced-over river that cut through the park. He slipped and slid but was at least doing better than the erumpent, who almost immediately started skidding out of control.

"I'll get Kowalski, you get the erumpent?" Elvira suggested, and Newt nodded.

"Sounds reasonable."

They moved, Elvira turning on the spot and vanishing, reappearing out on the ice and seizing Jacob by the arm, turning into and stepping into nothingness once more. They reappeared on the bridge as the erumpent gave a confused bugle and then a disappointed one as Newt slid onto the ice on his knees, the suitcase open and slowly sucking the massive creature in, something that was roughly the size of two tanks squeezing tinier and tinier until it vanished and Newt closed the case with a sharp snap. He remained kneeling on the ice, panting.

"Come on, let's get down there," Elvira urged, tugging at Jacob's arm. Together they moved to the snowy bank of the river and picked their way out across the ice, using the base of the bridge for support as they edged out. Newt met them at the base of the support, lowering his suitcase to the ground and lifting the latch. He shimmied down the ladder, keen on checking to see if there were any more animals out of place and making sure the erumpent made it back from her escapades unscathed. Jacob gave Elvira a look reminiscent of one a weary parent might give another parent with a particularly hard-to-control child before descending as well. Elvira chuckled, nudging the suitcase a bit so that it was more in the shadow of the stonework before stepping inside herself.

Again, Newt took her hand and helped her down, and this time Elvira appreciated the gesture. Her knee was throbbing and going by the reddish stain on the front of her trousers she was fairly certain that there was a cut under the fabric.

"Jacob, would you mind going and making sure the niffler is where he's meant to be?" Newt requested. "You can't miss his nest."

Jacob paused in lifting off the chest protector. "Am I gonna need this?"

"No, no, of course not," Newt assured him, and Jacob gave him a suspicious look but nevertheless took it the rest of the way off and hung it on the coatrack next to Newt's overcoat before moving out of the shed that served as Newt's base of operations and back into the sea of habitats and enclosures.

Newt gestured to the stain on Elvira's leg and asked, "Would you like me to take a look at it?"

Elvira nodded. "If you wouldn't mind. And I wouldn't mind a dose of pain-relief, if you've got it."

"Oh, ah..." Newt immediately turned and began to fumble through the various bottles and vials lining one of his many cabinets, filtering through a range of healing potions before finding what she requested. He turned to find Elvira sitting on his countertop, a few books slid aside to make room for her. Newt cleared his throat and offered her the potion. She took it and popped the cork out easily, downing the dose like a shot and making a face as she did.

"Won't do much," she judged, "but it'll keep the worst of it down until we get done hunting your little friends the length and breadth of the city."

"Won't do much?" Newt asked blankly as he hooked a stool with his foot and pulled it over to where Elvira was sitting. He settled himself down, gently lifting her foot up and setting it on his thigh so that he could get a good look at what he was dealing with. Newt reached up to the hem of her trousers and paused as he realized he'd just managed to get himself an up-close peek at her leg, something he hadn't exactly been looking for but also wasn't terribly upset about. He looked up at her, torn between apologizing and trying to play it off as nothing. Of course, he got to look at ladies' legs all the time.

"You can build up a resistance to pain reliever, and I used to down it like candy when I first got back," Elvira explain, looking a bit irritable at the memory. "It was stupid, I knew it was dangerous to take it like I was, but I didn't care. I was having a whole cocktail of potions when I woke up and before I went to bed back then. Iliana was furious, she finally tossed out all my potions and refused to brew me anymore until I took a good, hard look at what I was doing to myself."

Newt swallowed thickly. He knew of a few people who had dealt with potion addiction in the past, but they were always whispered about derisively. People thought it showed some great flaw in a person's character to become dependent on a potion to get through the day, but Newt had never quite understood that. If a person was hurting, really hurting, was it surprising that they would want relief? And was it not completely understandable that they might soon develop a fear of going back to what they were without that blanket.

"Is it... safe for you to take that?" Newt asked awkwardly, knowing there was some sort of social line he wasn't supposed to cross here but not knowing precisely where it was here.

Elvira chuckled. "Yes, I'm fine. I broke myself of the habit. Now I only take it if it's been a _particularly_ rough day."

"Ah yes." Newt winced. "I am sorry about that, Elvira, truly."

She shrugged. "Don't be, English. I'm not." She smiled at him crookedly, but her expression was soft despite what should have been by most normal reckoning a teasing sort of look. "I got to run around the city, doing the sort of work I used to do with my father. I met Jacob, who's a delight, got this lovely necklace..." She touched the pendant and offered him a wink. "And to top it all off, I got to spend the entire evening with you, so all in all, I say its one of my best days in a while."

Newt flushed, not quite sure how to respond to that. So many people would have been furious if he had crashed into their lives dragging all of this behind him. _She_ should have been furious too, but Elvira just kept smiling and teasing him and calling him 'English' and being amazingly resistant to any sort of stress or anger over the whole affair. He didn't know how to say that for all he was worried about his creatures, he was also having the time of his life spending his night in her and Jacob's company without sounding like a complete and utter sap, and so he busied himself with the injury he was supposed to have been addressing all along.

Newt began to pull up the leg of her trousers, admiring the intricate lines of sewing up the side of her boot that kept the leather stiff all the way to the top. Above it, he could see the top of her sock, a deceptively dainty scrap of fabric edged in lace, held up with a garter, and somehow he wasn't even remotely surprised. Her entire wardrobe seemed to skew towards the masculine, but the clean lines and tailored cut fit her more flatteringly than he suspected the drop-waisted fashion of the day could ever have managed.

Above that was smooth, silky-looking skin and Newt barely managed to restrain the urge to do what he usually did when confronted with something new and fascinating, which was reach out and run his hand over it. Elvira might be fond of him, but he was fairly confident something like that would get him kicked clean off his stool. He saw the long, raised edges of the puckered pink scars running here and there across her leg, a remnant of the No-Maj surgery that had been performed to patch her leg up. They looked angry, and one such cut was bisected right at the base of her kneecap by a long gash that was starting to clot, bruises already forming around the edges.

"It doesn't look too bad," Newt assured her, raising his wand. He cast a quick spell to clean out the injury of any debris - bits of grit or random loose bits of lint from her pants - and sealed the gash with a quick spell. That done, a third spell flashed at the tip of his wand and the bruising began to slowly fade as the blood beneath the skin was reabsorbed into capillaries.

Elvira breathed a sigh of relief, steadfastly ignoring the way she was blushing bright red. It wasn't as if this bit of her wouldn't have been display under a layer of sheer hose if she had been wearing a dress, but it was very different when Newt was right in front of her and staring intently at her legs, a feature of hers that she'd actually been very proud of before one of them was blown to bits. "That's a relief. Could you do my palms?" she requested.

The seat of the stool Newt was perched on was long and thin, made to slid easily under the counter, and so she placed her feet up on either side of Newt's hips to keep her balance as she offered up her skinned hands. Newt reached up, taking first her left hand in his, and cast a quick series of spells to clean them out and fix the gashes, doing the same to the right.

With that done, they were both left with the realization that Newt was perched between her legs and holding her hands with their faces barely two feet apart as Elvira watched him work. Both of their faces burned bright red. Elvira knew she needed to do something about this soon; whether it was getting some breathing room from Newt to get her head back on straight or simply grabbing him by the lapels of his stupidly blue coat and planting one on him was yet to be seen. For his part, Newt was trying to figure out what he was supposed to do in a situation like this, because his heart was eagerly urging him to kiss her and his head was screaming frantically that was a weird thing to do after almost being trampled by an erumpent and his gut was tying itself in knots over the whole thing.

"There's something I want to show you!" he exclaimed, although it came out a bit more like a yelp. He stood up sharply, the stool sliding out from him with the force, and summarily taking Elvira's balance with him. She cried out as she pitched forward, reaching up and grabbing onto Newt's shoulders to keep from faceplanting on the wooden floor. Newt grabbed her waist instinctively to help stabilize her. Slowly, Elvira eased her hips off the edge of the counter, placing her feet flat on the ground, her boots in between Newt's. His hands were still on her waist and they were nearly chest to chest. If there was ever a moment, this was it, but when she looked up, Newt looked... well, the best word for it would have been terrified.

Elvira sighed and lifted her hands away from him. It wasn't exactly a flattering expression to see on his face, but he clearly wasn't quite as ready to jump her as she was with him, and she didn't like the idea of making him any more uncomfortable with the situation than he already seemed to be. Newt whipped his hands back, looking like he'd been caught in the cookie jar.

"You said you had something to show me?" Elvira murmured, and Newt nodded mechanically.

"Oh, ah, yes." His voice was strained and he knew it but he wasn't quite sure how to fix his damned anxiety around this woman. He could not for the life of him find a solid answer on whether or not she would welcome any kind of advance from him, and he had never been more angry at himself for his inability to read social cues like a normal human being. "This way."

It was a grim change of subject compared to what they'd been up to a moment before, Newt knew that, but he also needed her to see it. He could already feel the earlier warmth that had filled him at being so close to her leeching away as they approached the arctic enclosure, a few snowflakes drifting out from the flapping tarp that covered the entrance.

"If you have an abominable snowman in there," she said teasingly, and Newt chuckled weakly.

"No, it's nothing like that. I'm afraid it's rather more... well," he finished sorrowfully, reaching up and pulling back the curtain, lowering his gaze in shame.

Elvira's eyes widened. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting. She'd felt the strength of the cooling charms and seen the snow before Newt had even pulled back the curtain. Maybe an arctic jackalope, or something a bit more dangerous than an antlered rabbit.

What she wasn't expecting was to see a mass of writhing, pulsing, oozing black smoke trapped in an orb shape by a strong magical barrier, hovering in the middle of the habitat. Elvira took a sharp step back, her heart hammering as the vision of grey veins slowly creeping across Ellis's screaming form flashed behind her eyes. She had only seem something like that once before and it had certainly not been as contained as this, but there was no doubt what it was.

"Sweet Sayre," Elvira whispered. "Newt did you... is that?"

"The ritual worked, in a way," Newt explained quietly, looking at the rising mass. "I was able to separate the Obscurus from the girl, but she died. I have no idea if she had just been drained by that point or if it was the Obscurus leaving her body that killed her. The ritual might not have been anything more than an elaborate and complicated way to kill an Obscurial. _I_ might have..." His voice cracked and he trailed off.

"Newt," Elvira whispered, and Newt was sharply aware that this was the first time she had directly addressed him as such instead of English. She reached out, putting her hand on his shoulder sympathetically. "You said yourself, the girl was sedated when you arrived to keep the Obscurus from escaping. It's very possible that she was simply... already gone," she finished lamely. "Even before you got there. You can't blame yourself."

Newt shook his head. "But if there is one here in New York-"

"Then we will try again, and hopefully this time it will work," she assured him. "That's all we can do. It's not as if an answer will simply fall out of the sky, and it's a damn sight more than the Aurors would try to do."

Elvira bit her lip. She had not told him about the Barebones, about the family she was certain was playing host to the Obscurus if there was one. The Barebone family was the perfect storm for the formation of such a creature, but if that was the case, then she was already well-placed to do something about it through Iliana's connection with Credence. It made her feel guilty, to think of it like that, and she fully intended to try the ritual, but New York City was not a random village in the Sudan. The casualties an Obscurus could cause in place like Manhattan could be staggering. Something would have to be done, whether it was fair or not.

She was just praying it wouldn't come to that. Looking at Newt, she didn't know if he could handle losing another child to its Obscurus.

* * *

Tina wasn't certain what she was doing, it was all so messy and convoluted. A man with a suitcase full of monsters, a No-Maj with a nasty bite from one of apparently several escaped creatures that was running around unObliviated and as if it weren't already mad enough, apparently there was a connection to the Cactus Cat and Elvira Blödgarmr.

Tina remembered the day she saw Elvira climb off that boat. She had only been a junior Auror then. Catching the witches and wizards trying to sneak off to Europe to get involved in a conflict they were supposed to stay out of was something like grunt work back then - long hours standing on the docks waiting for someone suspicious, chasing down leads that were often nothing, and

It had been a big day when she heard that they had found the name Elvira Blödgarmr on a passenger list. She'd never met a member from the eccentric family before, and the Aurors had been laughing and cutting up the entire time, talking about how batty and out of their minds they were. They had laughed about how she'd managed to get out of the country scot free, only to get caught coming home, and didn't that just fall right in line with the ridiculous things that family seemed to get into? Tina had joined in with the mocking, thinking it would help her bond with the Aurors. She'd never met a Blödgarmr before, she had no reason to think they were any less insane than she'd always heard they were.

But when Elvira had stepped off the boat, she had been thin and obviously underfed. Her hair was lank and there was a haunted look in her eyes. She was on crutches, a thick wrapping of bandages visible under her skirt around one leg. Any kind of movement seemed to cause her pain. She seemed barely capable of shouldering her tiny pack of possessions, but she was still managing - painfully slowly - to hobble herself down the gangway.

The Aurors had descended on her the moment her feet hit the ground, spiriting her into an unused waiting room and warding the door. Tina remembered Elvira's head snapping up, eyes widening in horror as she saw that she was surrounded. One of the Aurors had grabbed her, a fellow who had moved to stand behind her. Something slipped behind Elvira's eyes and it was like all of her pain had just been shrugged off in favor of mind-numbing terror. A wave of power had ripped off of her, throwing the Aurors off of her as she broke for the door. A few had gotten up, fired spells at her, but she turned and yelled something and the spells stopped in midair and reversed exactly, striking their casters in the face.

It was Tina, sprawled on the floor with a chair half on top of her, that managed to make the shot to her ankle that took her down, and once she was on her knees if was over. Tina had never been looked at with such outright hate as she was at the moment when Elvira lifted her head and saw who had stopped her escape. Tina was commended for her quick action, it had made her a little bit of a celebrity within the office for a while and gotten her a few juicy cases that had helped jump-start her career. But sometimes, when she was lying awake at night and thinking of the cases she hadn't been able to solve, she could hear Elvira Blödgarmr screaming as the runes were cursed into her flesh.

She knew what would happen when she turned them in. Elvira, with her track record, connected with something like this? She would be sentenced to death. And she should be, she broke the law in a hundred different ways and took delight in dancing around any and all charges they tried to throw at her. Now, she went and got herself mixed up in creatures, in whatever it was that was running around and terrorizing Manhattan and sucking the life out of people? She should have known better, she should have been smarter than that. It was a vicious, terrible thing to be involved in, something that had to be stopped before the Statute of Secrecy went up in flames.

And yet, Tina knew in her heart of hearts that Elvira was a good person. That Newt fellow seemed alright too. Even the No-Maj had been decent when he wasn't drooling on himself.

But her career was in shambles after the Barebones incident, and maybe, just maybe, if she got this right, she'd be able to bring herself back from the brink. She didn't even care if she lost her status and was a junior Auror once more, anything was better than Wand Registry, and she was young, she had time to build herself back up. Being an Auror was all she knew, it was all she was good at. She was dying in Wand Registry and this smoke monster thing was threatening to blow the lid of the biggest secret in the magical community - that it existed at all. It had to be stopped, and if she was the one to do it, there was no way she wouldn't be returned to where she belonged, a full Auror once more. Once again bringing down Elvira Blödgarmr would just be the cherry on top.


	17. Chapter 17

The thudding echoed loudly through the case, and Elvira looked around curiously. "Is that... one of your creatures?" she asked uncertainly, and Newt shook his head.

"Hey Newt, you're hearing that too right?" Jacob asked, appearing from around the edge of another habitat. Newt hastily let the tarp concealing the Obscurus fall back into place. "I didn't just take one too many hints from the erumpent thing?"

"No," Newt said slowly, looking up. "I believe someone is knocking on the case."

Elvira stared at him blankly. "Knocking on the-?"

"Well, what do we do?" Jacob asked, looking up nervously, as if at any moent the whole roof might rip off the place.

"I believe the polite thing would be to see what they want," Newt noted, which sounded a bit ridiculous to Elvira but he would know better than she would, after all. Moving together back into the shed, Newt started up the stairs, lifting the small trapdoor that led out into the world beyond the suitcase. Jacob went next and Elvira, still favoring her leg, followed him out last.

The room they were in was lined on two sides by tiered aisles of seats, where dignitaries from all over the world stood and stared at them incredulously. The seal on the wall at the front of the room and the woman in glittering robes standing below it made it clear that they were in the midst of the MACUSA, and the reason why was obvious as Elvira's eyes landed hatefully on Tina Goldstein, shrinking under the stare of everyone in the room.

"Oh Tina..." Elvira breathed. "You're gonna pay for this one."

"Scamander?" asked a voice incredulously, and Newt winced.

"Hello, Minister," he said weakly.

"Theseus Scamander? The war hero?" someone queried, and Elvira looked at Newt curiously. He'd never mentioned his brother was a war hero, only that he was a rather dry fellow.

"No, this is his little brother," the British Minister corrected. "And what are you doing in New York?"

"I came to buy an Appaloosa Puffskein, sir," Newt said swiftly, but it was such a ridiculous thing to say that he was trailing off even before he'd finished his sentence.

"Right," the British Minister said skeptically. "What are you really doing here?"

"He was meeting me," Elvira said, stepping forward and giving Tina one last glare before addressing the room at large. "We started consulting by owl on a case he came across while travelling and, when we hit it off, he was kind enough to come and see me. You know, seeing as I can't travel," she said, giving Picquery a spiteful stare.

"Elvira Blödgarmr," Picquery said slowly, narrowing her eyes. "Why am I not surprised to see you tangled up in this?"

"Probably because you like to blame me whenever anything even mildly magically inconvenient happens in this godforsaken city," Elvira replied sharply.

"Blödgarmr?" repeated a voice with a thick German accent. A man in one of the upper tiers around the room moved forward. "Elvira Blödgarmr you said?" The speaker was a man in a suit and sash, both studded with medals and pins denoting various honors and positions within the German magical government. "I know of you. My nephew, Nils Turnau… you saved his life!"

Elvira paused. She remembered Nils, another of the Irregular Medics who had been assigned to her squad. He had talked often about how his family wanted him to stay out of the war for fear of causing political scandal. Soldiering was for poor families, not for families that had boasted three German Ministers in the past few centuries, Nils had recited bitterly more than once when he explained that the only way he was going to be able to fight in the war was under the table.

"He has asked you to visit so many times," the German Minister continued. "You haf never responded, he says."

"Ask Madam President why that is," Elvira said, staring down the president, who opened her mouth and cut her off sharply. She was very well aware that Elvira had made contact with influential people while overseas. She knew that it was very possible that Elvira's sentence could create a small international scandal when it was discovered that one of the Irregular Medics - a group every European country supported with various degrees of openness - had been sentenced as she had when she returned from the war.

"Goldstein, who is this?" Picquery barked, gesturing to Jacob.

"This is Jacob Kowalski, Madam President, he's a No-Maj who got bitten by one of Mr. Scamander's creatures," Tina said in a rush.

"No-Maj?"

"Obliviate him!"

Newt stepped forward, laying his hand on Elvira's arm. She glanced at him. Her attention had been grabbed instantly by President Seraphina Picquery, the woman who had personally handed down her sentence and who she hated more than she hated almost anyone in the world. but now she followed Newt's gaze to the image floating in th eair in the middle of the room, of a man on the floor, dead. Greyish, cracking veins covered what was visible of his skin under his nice suit and Elvira's stomach dropped.

"Merlin's beard," Newt whispered, clearly having come to the same conclusion we had.

"You know which of your creatures was responsible, Mr. Scamander?" asked one of the Chinese delegates.

"No creature did this."'

"Don't pretend," Newt murmured. "You must know what that was, look at the marks… That was an Obscurus."

The series of whispers that raced around the room was predictable, and President Picquery took a deep breath, eyes burning with rage at the mere suggestion of such a thing within her country. "You go too far, Mr. Scamander. There is no Obscurial in America."

"Bullshit!" Elvira shrieked, thrusting a finger damningly in the president's face. Newt grabbed her arm, trying to hold her back, but she ignored him.

She was fully aware of what was about to happen. She already had a record with MACUSA and they would have absolutely no compunctions about sentencing her to death for her 'involvement' in this. Especially since Newt had _dared_ to suggest such a silly thing as an Obscurial loose in the saintedly perfect country that the MACUSA controlled with an iron first. She was going to die, perhaps not today, but soon, for getting to know Newt and getting involved in his hunt for his loose monsters and for being a member of a family that the country had decided long ago to demonize, and if that was her fate, then be damned if she was going to go quietly.

"Thomas Crane!" Elvira roared. "He was an Obscurial in Utah! I went out there with two wizards because none of the Aurors in the area could be bothered to check out all the strange things happening in that town because there was no magical community nearby to be affected. And you know what we found? An Obscurial! I watched it lift my friend in the air and start to drain the life out of him! I fought the damn thing until it was dead and when the Aurors showed up they said the same damn thing. _There hasn't been an Obscurus in American in a hundred years_!" She made her voice high and mocking. "Well there has been, and maybe if you weren't so damn concerned with tracking down werewolves and vampires who are just trying to live their lives you'd have a fucking clue what goes on in your country, esteemed Madam President - mph!"

Elvira was jerked backwards as Picquery drew her wand and flicked it. A gag slammed into place over her mouth with enough force to send her toppling to the ground. Newt, reacting quickly, only barely managed to catch her before her head made contact with the marble. He looked up at the president incredulously as Elvira frantically tried to remove the gag, but it was stuck fast across her mouth.

"Impound that case, Graves!" Picquery ordered, and Newt jumped as the suitcase whizzed from behind him and to the side of one Percival Graves.

"Wait. No. Give that back!"

"Arrest them!"

Graves raised his hand and as Newt fumbled for his wand it was ripped from him. He, Tina, and Jacob were dragged to their knees on the ground beside Elvira, who was forced upright into the same position, her mouth still covered and muffling her shrieks of outrage and pain.

"Don't hurt those creatures! Please, you don't understand, nothing in there is dangerous, nothing!"

In all the commotion, Elvira closed her eyes, concentrating hard. She didn't need to say the spell, she didn't need to wave a wand, but she did need her focus to be strong, and if she could just get her fingers to unclench... There!

A figure made of golden light, an indistinct shape of a small figure, burst from her palm and tore from the meeting room faster than anyone could react, faster than they could stop it.

"What was that?" Graves barked at her, and Elvira couldn't verbally respond, but her expression spoke volumes.

 _"Would you like to know?"_

And with that, the four of them were hauled from the room with Newt screaming the whole way, "Don't hurt those creatures, nothing in there is dangerous! Please, don't hurt my creatures! They aren't dangerous! Please, they are not dangerous! They are not dangerous!"

* * *

Iliana was worried. Elvira had left her a note saying they were going out to recover a few of Mr. Scamander's creatures that had gotten loose from his suitcase, but as good as Elvira was with creatures and as well as she knew the city, it shouldn't have taken this long. Certainly not this long without any kind of word. She'd already hung up a sign on the door of the Cactus Cat saying that they were closed indefinitely due to unforeseen circumstances and raised any and all wards around the place she could without Elvira there to help.

Now she was stuck, because she didn't know what to do. She had no idea where her sister had gotten off to and she wasn't any good at the sort of scrying spells she'd need to find her. Her mind was too consumed to focus on her research or lose herself in a project. Part of her wanted to go to Credence, but it was too dangerous in daylight and besides, it hadn't been long enough. To run to him after her self-imposed break between them, her heart full of fear for her sister's sake, didn't seem fair to him. That left her sitting on the couch, running her fingers over the fabric of her skirt absently to give her hands something to do.

At that moment, the front door suddenly blazed with light and a figure composed of pure sunbeams filtered around the edges before consolidating into a thin, sprightly form that settled itself on the coffee table in front of Iliana. It was a communication method, something they used to send out an SOS, and her heart tightened in fear no matter how innocent the figure looked.

It spoke in a light, tinkling tone that sounded nothing like her sister, but the words were hers. _"Captured by Goldstein. Newt's creatures blamed for Obscurial attacks. Imprisoned in cells. I love you."_

"No..." Iliana breathed as the figure dissolved into flickers of light and vanished into nothingness. _I love you_... that sounded far too much like _goodbye_ , and if MACUSA was finally able to get their hands on Elvira for something, especially something as serious as this, as dead No-Majs… there was really only one thing left that they could do to her.

Iliana narrowed her eyes, and as she did, fire rolled from her shoulders and down to her hands, burning fingerprints into the cushion her fingers were locked around.

"No," she said, and this time it was a statement. This was not going to happen. She wouldn't allow it.

* * *

"Hold on, I'm sorry, I've almost got it," Newt said apologetically as he began to pry the gag off the skin at the corner of Elvira's mouth. The whole lower half of her face was red from where the gag had pressed tightly to her skin and there were dents in her cheeks that looked deep enough to bruise. He hated it, hated that this was how Elvira was treated by her own country's leader. Admittedly, she shouldn't have gone off like that in front of delegates from a dozen magical governments, but nothing she had said had been incorrect, and President Picquery had just shut her down.

"Got it!" Newt said triumphantly, the bit of fabric going limp in his fingers as it was finally removed from her and then vanishing in a small puff of smoke.

"You shouldn't have yelled at Madam Picquery like that," Tina said woodenly from her post, wisely in the corner of the cell farthest from where Elvira stood.

Elvira glared and tucked her feet under her. Newt jumped to her side, taking her elbow and helping to guide her to her feet. But the moment she was upright, she stormed across the cell. Tina was a full four inches taller than Elvira, but she was left cringing into the corner of the cell under the force of the glare Elvira levelled her way. Her hands slammed into the bars on either side of Tina, caging her in.

"Why is it," she hissed "that whenever my life falls apart _you're_ the one standing there, Goldstein? When I get off that ship, you're there, and when I try to run from the Aurors, _you're_ the one who takes me down! A muscle shredding hex straight to my bad leg, _real_ classy." Newt's mouth dropped open and he looked up at Tina in horror as he realized exactly why Elvira seemed to hate this particular Auror so much. He'd seen enough to realize that Elvira was a terrifyingly capable witch. He suspected she probably could have escaped a few Aurors back then, had Tina not acted as she did. "And here I thought, when you apologized after my trial, 'maybe she's a decent Auror, maybe she's just one of those who can't fathom the idea of MACUSA making a mistake.' I had to _watch you_ come into my bar every few months on Auror raids to try and bring me up on charges for anything. But no, you're not even an Auror anymore, and you _continue_ to stick your nose in places it _doesn't belong_!"

"Elvira!" Newt called out worriedly, because she looked very close to doing something violent to Tina, and he almost didn't blame her. He couldn't imagine what he would do if he was in her position and he was faced with the person who had trapped him in that situation once again getting him tossed in a cell. Her face snapped to him, loose hairs frizzed wildly around her face, and he could have sworn he saw a snap of magical sparks among the flyaway strands. The look she pinned him with made his blood run cold and he was made suddenly very aware of the fact that this was a woman no person in their right mind should ever cross. Elvira looked ready to kill Tina with her bare hands.

But the minute her eyes landed on him, her expression softened, and something like shame flashed behind her eyes for a moment before being washed away. Newt stretched out his hand, approaching her slowly, as if she were one of his creatures who had been frightened by a loud noise. "It's not worth it, you'll only get yourself into more trouble."

Elvira offered him a faint, sad smile. "You don't understand, do you English? I was warned last time. Next time they caught me in something illegal, it would be the maximum sentence." Newt's mouth dropped open. "They're going to kill me for this."

There was a ringing silence in the cells as Newt stared in horror at the woman in front of him. He had just met her, but already she seemed so vibrant, so much larger than life, and the idea that she might no longer be in the world was... impossible. How could MACUSA do something like this?

"W-What?" Jacob asked faintly. "They're gonna... Aw geez... Ellie..."

Elvira offered Jacob a reassuring glance. "Don't worry, Jacob. They wont hurt you. They'll Obliviate you - take away your memories of all of this - and then they'll return you to your old life. Newt..." Her eyes flicked to him. "I... I honestly don't know what will happen to you but your creatures... I'm so sorry..." she shook her head pitifully, and Newt felt his stomach drop.

The niffler, who he'd just spent the majority of the past few days berating for creeping off and getting into trouble. The occamies, they'd just come into this world, and now they were going to be extinguished. Dougal, he was such a kind, passive creature, he'd never done a bit of harm to anybody. And poor Pickett and his siblings, what would become of them? Would they be lit on fire along with their tree? The graphorns, with them gone the species would be lost forever, and that was a massive tragedy.

"I never meant for this to happen," Tina whispered from behind Elvira, and her reaction was immediate. Elvira whipped around on the hell of her good foot and her fist slammed home in Tina's right eye. The woman's head snapped back into the cell bars behind her, letting out a loud clang. She slid down to the ground, clutching her face and moaning in pain.

"The next time, think about someone other than yourself before you do something," Elvira said coldly. "I know it'll be a bit difficult for you, but do make an effort."

"Feel better?" Newt asked her, unable to keep a bit of rebuke out of his voice as he did. He didn't necessarily approve of violence, but there was no denying the way some of the tension leeched from Elvira's shoulders the moment she threw that punch.

"Actually, yes," she said absently as she shook her hand gently, blowing across her knuckles to take the sting out. "I've been wanting to do that for almost a decade."

"Glad I could help," Tina grunted from the floor, her eye already swelling.

"Hey, if that was some fella who did that to me, I'd have done the same thing," Jacob assured her, giving Tina a nervous look where she was slowly picking herself up off the floor, wincing as she did.

There was a long stretch of quiet as Elvira moved back to Newt's side of the cell, pressing her back against the wall and letting her head fall forward, her hand coming up to brace her forehead wearily. She let out a long breath, and Newt thought he picked out the words, "Least Annie will know..." mixed in. He remembered the burst of light she'd let off the moment before they were taken and guessed that had been some kind of message sent to her sister, perhaps a variation on a Patronus, and then he realized with yet another stone settling in his stomach that Iliana was about to be without family.

"This is all my fault," Newt whispered in horror. "If I hadn't come to you..."

Elvira's head snapped up and she pinned him with a narrow-eyed stare. "Don't you dare, English. I'm a big girl, I make my own decisions. I knew the risks when I ran along with you. I... I could have been smart and stayed home, but I didn't," she said, voice rich with self-recrimination. "And now Iliana, she'll be alone, and with this whole Obscurus mess..."

"Can someone please tell me what this Obscurial… Obscurius thing is?" Jacob asked faintly. "Please?"

"There hasn't been one for centuries," Tina recited, drawing another glare from Elvira.

"There was one in Utah that I saw when I was about fifteen." Newt jerked. He hadn't realized she'd been that young.

"I met one in Sudan three months ago.," he added. "There used to be more of them but they still exist."

Elvira sighed. "Before wizards went underground, when we were still being hunted by Muggles, young wizards and witches sometimes tried to suppress their magic to avoid persecution. Instead of learning to harness or to control their powers, they developed what was called an Obscurus. It's an unstable, uncontrollable Dark force that busts out and attacks… and then vanishes."

"Obscurials can't survive long, can they?" Tina recalled.

"There's no documented case of any Obscurial surviving past the age of ten. The one I met in Africa was eight when she…" Newt swallowed thickly. "She was eight when she died."

"What are you telling me here..." Jacob looked horrified."That Senator Shaw was killed... by a kid?"

"Yes," Elvira said sorrowfully, leaning back against the cell bars and bracing herself. "And I think I know who?"

"You do?" Newt asked in shock, because in all the time they'd discussed it she'd never mentioned that she had a theory about who the Obscurial was. "Who? How?"

"The Second Salemers, that anti-magic group that's been raising a fuss? Mary Lou Barebone, their leader, has three orphans she took in. I suspect they all were magical, perhaps No-Maj-born, that she took upon herself to beat the magic out of. I know one of the children, at least, he has magic."

"Wait..." Tina said slowly, and comprehension washed across her face. "Credence Barebone? He has magic? That's who... Your sister, she came to ask me about a No-Maj-bron boy who never made it to Ilvermorny. That's who she meant?"

"What do you know about it?" Elvira snapped. "I thought the official MACUSA line was just to ignore the crazy No-Majs?"

Tina's expression hardened. "Do you know how I lost my job in the Auror's Office?"

"No, frankly I was just pleased you had, I didn't much care about the details," Elvira replied bluntly.

"It was because I took after Mary Lou Barebone when I tried to infiltrate their church and found her beating that poor boy's back bloody!" Tina said hotly. "I attacked a No-Maj with magic and that was what got me booted to Wand Registry."

Elvira's face went flat and it was clear she was pleased by what Tina had done, and was angry about the fact that she was left to support something the woman had done. Her mouth tightened and her jaw clenched. "He has magic. Iliana has been... seeing him?" she said uncertainly. "She realized, she's been teaching him in secret. His sister, Modesty, she'd be about the right age, wouldn't she?" and this time she looked to Tina questioningly, the only other person in the cell who had any idea about the family.

"She can't be more than seven or eight," Tina agreed. "She'd be... be close to... Well, she'd be dangerously unstable by now." She was clearly unable to talk about such a young girl dying.

"Great," Elvira muttered, and flexed her fingers experimentally towards the cell doors. She cringed as a sharp red light flashed and yanked her hand back. "And there's no way for me to warn Iliana to be careful around the girl."

* * *

Queenie Goldstein didn't know much about the Blödgarmr family, but she had heard Tina's stories of them over the years, from her sister's capture of Elvira Blögarmr to the raids on the Cactus Cat, and everything in between. She'd even gone down there one night after she got off work, sliding in with the rest of the crowd with no one the wiser that she was Tina's sister, and sat and listened to Iliana Velikova sing.

So, when a hand flashed out from an empty storage room at MACUSA headquarters and yanked her inside, Queenie was fully aware of who was holding her at wand point.

Queenie's face crumpled as she plumbed the depths of the distraught-looking girl's mind, pulling details free and piecing together an image of what had happened and what the girl was up to. "Oh, Iliana, I'm sorry about your sister... I understand what you're so upset... And..." Her eyes widened and she whimpered pitifully, "Teeny."

There was a sharp shock to her throat from the tip of Iliana's wand - she shouldn't have that, Queenie noted - but it was no worse than sliding across the carpet and touching a doorknob.

"Stay out of my head, Goldstein," Iliana growled. "I'm no good with Legilimency, but I'm a dab had with Occlumency, and I will make you regret it."

Queenie realized that in the next second as she tried to find details of what exactly Iliana wanted from her and was rewarded with a flare of fire in the back of her mind, burning and searing and settling into a headache at the base of her skull. She winced and glanced down at the slightly shorter girl, and the expression of wrath carved on her face left Queenie with no trouble believing the girl's mother could turn into a fireball-flinging harpy.

"Now, seeing as you sister has seen fit to ruin my sister's life again," Iliana said dangerously, "I think it's only fair you help me get her out of this jam. Think of it as paying off Tina's debt, huh? Your skills at mind reading will make it easy for you to get what I need."

"I want to help!" Queenie insisted. "I ain't got anything against your sister and her fella, this Scamander guy. And that poor No-Maj! I just want Teeny back safe!"

Iliana stepped back a bit, and Queenie was able to unstick herself from the shelves she'd been crunched up against a little bit, breathing more easily. "Good. That makes this easier." She smoothed down the front of her skirt with her free hand. "Now, here's what I need you to do for me..."

* * *

The three of them were rounded up at wandpoint by some witches in long, white robes. Witches from the Execution Office. Their fate had already been decided, Elvira realized, despite the fact that they were now supposedly going for 'interrogation.'

"You're an interesting man, Mr. Scamander," Graves commented where he sat casually across from Newt, who had his wrists chained.

"Mr. Graves…"Tina tried to protest, but was quelled by a finger to Graves' lips. He looked away from her, continuing to focus on Newt's file open in front of him on the gleaming metal table.

"You were thrown out of Hogwarts for endangering human life…"

"That was an accident," Newt said over his shoulder, and Elvira's eyes widened. She'd guessed that he hadn't finished school, it had been addressed in their letters, but no details had ever been offered up. Endangering human life, however, wasn't what she'd expected. But after Newt had seen her fly off the handle at Tina and the whole of the MACUSA meeting earlier, she couldn't bring herself to judge him for it. She was sure that, just as he'd given her the benefit of the doubt after she confessed to having a criminal record, there was more to the story.

"With a beast," Graves added, trying to pull Newt's attention back to him. "Yet one of your teachers argued strongly against your expulsion. What makes Albus Dumbledore so fond of you?"

Newt shook his head helplessly and whispered, "I really couldn't say."

"So setting a pack of dangerous creatures loose here was…" He spread his hands wide, inviting Newt to jump in with an explanation at any time. "Was just another accident, is that right?" Graves prodded.

"Why would I do it deliberately?" Newt asked blankly.

"To expose wizardkind," he provided swiftly. "To provoke war between the magical and non-magical worlds."

There was a ringing moment of silence before Newt said slowly, "Mass slaughter for the greater good, you mean?"

Graves sent a meaningful look at the witches holding Tina and Elvira at wandpoint, as if to say 'now we're getting somewhere.'

"Yes. Quite," he agreed, urging Newt on.

Newt glanced up. "I'm not one of Grindelwald's fanatics, Mr. Graves."

Graves stretched out his hand towards the corner of the room closest to him. "I wonder what you can tell me about this, Mr. Scamander?" The concealment spell that must have been covering it suddenly dropped, revealing the Obscurus of the Sudanese girl. At a wave of Graves's hand, it floated closer to them, settling itself in its protective orb on the edge of the table. It moved violently, thrashing within its prison, and seemed almost too aggressive for such a quiet moment.

"Its an Obscurus." Newt turned back, looking at Tina now, as Elvira already had seen the thing before. "But its not what you think. I managed to separate it from the Sudanese girl as I tried to save her. Wanted to take it home, to study it. But it cannot survive outside that box, it could not hurt anyone, Tina!"

"So its useless without the host," Graves said, shifting in his chair and looking mildly annoyed.

Elvira's mouth dropped open slightly as she stared at the man, a faint glimmer of understanding beginning to prick at the back of her mind. In times of trouble, the Auror office always gained special powers, and as the Aurors gained power, the influence of the head of their department would likewise grow exponentially...

"'Useless?'" Newt repeated incredulously. "'Useless?' That is a parasitical magical force that killed a child. What on earth would you _use_ it for?"

Graves averted his eyes for a moment, his hand coming up. He gestured to the witches in the long, white robes. "You fool nobody, Mr. Scamander," he said grimly, rising to his feet. "You brought this Obscurus into the city of New York in the hope of causing mass disruption, breaking the Statute of Secrecy and revealing the magical world."

"You know that can't hurt anyone, you know that!" Newt insisted.

"You are therefore guilty of a treasonous betrayal of your fellow wizards and are sentenced to death," Graves continued as a wand was pressed threateningly into Newt's throat.

"Miss Goldstein and Miss Blödgarmr, who have aided and abetted you…"

"No, they've done nothing of the kind!" Newt pleaded, eyes widening.

"They receive the same sentence," Graves finished, completely unmoved. his eyes flicked up to their executioners. "Just do it immediately. I will inform President Picquery myself. And perhaps... start with the Blödgarmr. She has been a thorn in our side for too long. Her sister can be rounded up later."

Elvira lunged, a sick pool of fear welling up in her stomach. She didn't mind so much if she died, she'd always assumed MACUSA would get her for one thing or anyother at some point and that would be it for her, whether the sentence with jail or life in prison. But Iliana had nothing to do with any of this, with the Obscurial, with Newt's case, none of it.

"If you lay a hand on my sister I will rip you apart!" she roared, attempting to leap over the table at Graves, but the witch holding her at wandpoint was faster. Elvira was hit with a spell that wrapped yet another gag tightly across her mouth and bound her upraised arms tightly against her chest, her wrists pinned uncomfortably at the level of her collarbones. Elvira thrashed and shrieked helplessly behind the gag, fighting the urge to cry at the thought of Iliana facing the same fate as she would. She wouldn't give Graves the satisfaction.

Tina was sobbing as they were marched through the halls, and all Newt could do was stare apologetically at the two women whom he had unintentionally sentenced to die the moment he crossed their paths. And Iliana, Graves was going to go after her too, would she be able to make it through this? The sight of Elvira, bound and gagged, being forced to limp along at wand point, made his stomach turn. Merlin, she looked as if she was about to cry, and Newt would have happily done anything in the world at that moment if it meant that she never shed a single tear ever again. Just seeing the reddened rims of her eyes made him want to throw things or wretch in a corner.

"Please. Don't do this, Bernadette, please…" Tina begged as they were led into a large room made of white marble. There was a small platform made of the same stuff spread along one wall of the square room, but the rest of it was filled with some sort of oddly-reflective liquid. It was not quite clear, there was a grey-black tinge to it, and floating in the middle was a simple white chair that looked deceptively innocent.

"It don't hurt, Tina," said the woman holding her captive soothingly, as if that made their deaths somehow more acceptable.

"Elvira, I'm so sorry." The apologies began to fall from Newt's lips without end as he saw the chair, knew that this was the end of the road for all of them. "I never meant to bring any of this to your doorstep, I swear, I had no idea it would come to this, I hate that I have done this to you, I can't... I can't..."

The worst part of all of it was that, as Elvira was marched to the edge of the platform, she looked back at him, and there was nothing hateful in her expression. Newt would have preferred it if she had been hateful, tried to hex him from behind the gag, but she just looked at him with the same kind of affection she always seemed to, like she didn't blame him one bit when all of this was his fault.

And then, to twist the knife, a single tear fell down her cheek.

The witch holding her reached up, touching the tip of her wand to Elvira's temple, Elvira stiffened and her expression turned glassy as the wand pulled away, a silvery thread of memory clinging to the tip. The witch in white turned and flung the collected memory into the water. It bloomed in a swirl of silvery-white, and a man with a full beard and well-oiled moustache, standing in his shirt sleeves with his suspenders around his waist, reached out from the memory. Elvira slumped, suddenly placid, as she stared down at her memory. In some kind of last act of mercy, the witch holding her vanished the ropes and gag holding her.

"Come on, Ellie, come here and I'll tell you a story of one of my adventures before bed," said the man in the memory, and Newt realized with a jolt that this was her father, Absalom Blödgarmr, the man he had originally meant to contact. A younger version of Elvira ran across the memory, climbing into her father's lap, and she looked like a painfully sweet little ragamuffin, wearing a long cotton nightgown with her hair in braids and a slight scuff on her cheek.

"Don't that look good? You wanna get in? Huh?" asked the witch holding her encouragingly, and, to Newt's horror, Elvira slowly nodded, her eyes fixed longingly on the image of the man, half-flit from one side as if he sat by the fire, holding her close on his lap and whispering a story to her younger self.

"Daddy," she whispered.

It was at that moment that Newt felt as Pickett jerked on his wrists and the lock on his shackles came loose.

"Let's get the good stuff out of you," said the witch holding him, raising her hand with her wand to his temple.

Newt lunged, slamming into her, and skittered back away, drawing the Swooping Evil from his pocket as he did and flinging it out into the room, letting it unfurl to its full size. Pickett crawled up the arm of the witch who had been holding him, who cried out as she spotted him. Newt grabbed at her wand arm as she started to try and fire a spell to curse Pickett off if her, managing to yank her wrist around. It hit the woman holding Tina squarely in the side and she was jerked away, her head cracking against the wall with a painful-sounding thump, wand flying from her hand and landing in whatever evil concoction filled the room.

"Mr. Scamander," Tina pleaded as Newt wrested the wand from the slight witch's hand and hit her with a Stunner, sending her slumping to the floor. Pickett scrambled away from her and Newt felt him making his way up his pants leg to the safety of his coat as he turned his wand to Tina, who presented her chains. Newt blasted them off and they both turned to look in horror at Elvira, who was still being slowly lowered towards the now-roiling potion beneath her.

The aura of the liquid holding her captive was broken as it reacted violently to the sudden surge of magic from the dissolved wand. It splashed like the ocean in a storm, licking dangerously at the sides of the platform and breaking against the walls of the room. Elvira jerked as she realized how close to death she was and yanked her feet up and away from the fluid, rising swiftly to stand on the seat of the chair.

"Elvira!" Newt called out, eyes darting to the side to the Swooping Evil, which was racing circuits around the room in its delight at being free to stretch its wings.

Elvira was panting, eyeing the distance between herself and the platform helplessly. It was much too far for her to possibly be able to jump it and land safely, probably by design. She would have lifted herself aloft with a simple levitation charm, but she didn't have her wand with her and the wandless version of the spell took a bit of chanting to manage, time she didn't have.

"Elvira, don't look down, just look at me!" Newt begged her, and her eyes snapped up, landing on his. She stared into his eyes, and for the first time she didn't seem like the indomitable woman who always had a plan, but rather a scared woman staring down the barrel of what was likely a painful death with no clue of how to escape. "Just look at me," he urged soothingly.

"I'm looking English, and you're much prettier to look at than what's below me," Elvira said shakily, and Newt, in spite of the direness of the situation, felt the corners of his mouth tilt up as a blush stained his cheeks.

"I want you to jump on his back," he said as the Swooping Evil began to swoop lower, skating low over the top of the roiling potion, low enough for Elvira to get a foot on.

"Are you insane? It'll kill her!" Tina demanded, and there was a visible hesitance in Elvira's eyes as she continued to stare into his.

"No, he won't," Newt snapped, before turning his attention back to Elvira, stretching out his arms to her. "I promise, Elvira, I will catch you. I won't let you fall, I swear. Do you trust me?"

Elvira swayed, shifting on the seat of the chair as the metal began to creak and dissolve beneath her. But then the corners of her mouth picked up and she whispered a quiet quip of, "With my life, English," and leaped. Her foot landed squarely in the middle of the Swooping Evil's back and it let out an irritated caw, but it was enough for her to push off, the knee of her bad leg folding as she landed on the platform. True to his word, Newt grabbed her, holding her tightly to him as she struggled to get her feet stable under her. For a moment Newt just clung to her, her face buried in his chest, wishing he could do more to stop the trembling in her limbs. Her could feel her fingers digging deeply into his back as she held him back just as tight, her breath coming in fast puffs against his chest.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again," Elvira murmured against the soft fabric of his shirt. "English, you sure know how to keep a girl entertained."

"And the show's not over," Newt found himself murmuring, allowing himself to bow his head over hers for just a moment before releasing all but a grip on her hand. He looked back at Tina, who nodded at him determinedly. "Come on, we've got to go."


	18. Chapter 18

As Newt had said, they were not out of the woods yet. They still had to escape the MACUSA building and, if possible, grab Newt's suitcase and their wands from wherever they'd been stashed, likely Graves' office. To make things more difficult, there were sirens blaring all around them, the whole of MACUSA obviously aware that something had gone wrong with their execution. There would be Aurors on them shortly and all they had to their names was a bowtruckle and a Swooping Evil tucked safely back up Newt's sleeve.

The problem was that they were left sprinting through a room filled with row after row of columns, meaning Aurors could come from nearly all directions and had cover. They could hide behind the columns too, but there was no telling if more Aurors would simply pour form behind them or not. Added to that, Newt felt Elvira flagging through his grip on her hand, palms sweaty, as she began to drag, her limp growing heavier.

He whipped back behind a pillar, dragging her around to press her to his chest once more as a spell flew past just inches from where he'd been standing a moment before. They could hear running footsteps, and Newt felt Elvira tug her hand loose from his grip, growling so low that he almost couldn't hear,

"Alright, you know what? Now I'm pissed."

She stepped fearlessly from behind the pillar, neatly dodging Newt's wild swipe for her as he felt her pull away. Two spells came roaring towards her from between the columns but Elvira raised her hands, palms flat facing the spells, and Newt heard her whisper something in a rolling, rhythmic language. The spells burst into bright white light against an invisible barrier and, with another murmur, Elvira fisted her hand seemingly on thin air. In a puff of smoke, tiny, crackling bolts of red light flared around her and went screaming between the columns, far too many for the two Aurors facing off against her to have a prayer of deflecting. They both took hits and went down and Elvira gestured for Tina and Newt to follow her out from behind the columns. They ran on, past the bodies of the downed Aurors, ribbons of residual red energy cracking across their clothes.

"And to think, I could barely scrape through my Native Magic course at Ilvermorny," Tina laughed breathlessly as they ran, and Newt saw the corner of Elvira's mouth quirk up, a new energy seeming to run through her now. They kept going, pushing on through the columns towards the exit, and just as they were about to reach it, the sound of several feet joined in behind them and a spell went whizzing past Tina's head, close enough to ruffle her hair in passing.

 _"Zalegni!"_ someone barked, and Elvira knew the word and knew the only person in the world who would choose to use Bulgarian at that exact moment. She seized Newt and Tina by the hands and yanked them down, dropping facedown to the ground. A fireball, nearly as large as the three of them combined, roared over their heads, the heat enough to redden exposed skin as it passed, and there were several fearful cries as the fireball connected and then blasted through whatever shields the Aurors managed to raise in time.

Looking up, they saw Iliana standing in front of them, feet planted in a strong stance and hands outstretched, a particularly dark look on her face as fire continued to crackle around her hands. Flanking her was Queenie, with a handful of wands and one very distinctive cane, and Jacob, who was clutching the handle of Newt's case.

"When I sent that messenger, I didn't mean for you to plan a jail break!" Elvira barked as she clambered to her feet, both groups rushing together. "Are you insane? That was incredibly dangerous!"

Jacob handed over Newt's case with a smile as Tina and Queenie embraced, Queenie clutching her sister worriedly and babbling about how it had all gone down. Elvira, in contrast to her rough words, reached out and scruffed Iliana's nape, dragging her in for a bone-breakingly tight hug, resting her chin on top of her sister's bowed head.

"So?" Iliana demanded petulantly into her sister's chest. "I'm a Blödgarmr, what do I care about danger or laws?"

"And if that ain't gonna wind up on my tombstone one day," Elvira chuckled.

"Come on, we should all, ahem, climb inside," Newt said, thrusting out the suitcase. "Queenie, I believe you're the only person they aren't currently hunting for. Do you think you could walk us out in here?"

Queenie looked at him and smiled. "Nice to meet you Mr. Scamander. And yeah, I think I could manage it. A lot of people don't expect me to get up to much, on account of the fact that they think I'm a ditz."

Jacob looked at her incredulously. "You just saved me from being Oblivi-whatevered. You're the furthest thing from a ditz."

Queenie looked at him, a slow, intrigued smile spreading across her face. "Aw, you're sweet."

Newt set the case on the ground, flipped up the catches, and lifted the lid. "Everybody in."

"Wait, where are we going?" Iliana interjected. "They'll have our houses watched, ditto for the Cactus Cat."

"I know a place," Jacob suggested, but before he could actually explain where it was, Queenie was smiling and grabbing his shoulder.

"Oh, that's a great idea, honey! I'll take us straight there!"

Jacob stared at her uncertainly. "Can you... uh..."

"Yes, she can, now everyone in the suitcase," Iliana ordered, hands on her hips. "I didn't break into MACUSA just to get caught standing around planning our next move."

Tina clambered in first, Jacob following, and Newt went down next. Elvira followed him, using his hand to guide her down the stairs as Iliana followed close on her heels. The trapdoor above them shut as Queenie closed the lid on the suitcase, and they heard the latches clicking into place before, presumably, she picked it up and began to cart them out.

"You okay?" Iliana asked, moving to her sister's side worriedly as Elvira sagged against Newt's counter, her cane planted firmly on the ground in contrast to her tired posture.

"Here, sit," Newt urged, clearing away the worst of the spray of papers and pictures with a sweep of his wand. "Get off your feet a moment."

Elvira offered him a weary smile, allowing him to take her arm and help her hop up to sit on the counter. She shifted so that she gripped him, pulling him tight against her side and leaning her head on his shoulder. Newt cleared his throat awkwardly as Iliana shot him a knowing look. For lack of any better ideas, he delicately pulled his hand free from her grasp and wrapped his arm around her waist, supporting her as she leaned on him.

"I'm fine, Iliana," she assured her sister. "Gonna need a strong drink and a peer group in a couple days when it all sinks in, but I'll live. You know me." She reached out, cuffing her sister's shoulder gently. "Made of hard and bony stuff. Takes more than an execution order to take me down. Leastways, as long as I got Newt with me." Her hand came up, coving his on her waist, and Newt flushed as her thumb began to stroke the back of his hand. Iliana mouthed 'thank you,' to him as Elvira closed her eyes for a moment, and Newt nodded back, feeling slightly uncomfortable about being so physically affectionate with Elvira in front of the others, but he couldn't persuade himself to let her get too far away. The last time she'd been further than an arm's length away she'd been sitting in a chair about to die.

"Can we jump back to the part about how your sister reads minds?" Jacob asked, raising a hand and looking at Tina uncertainly.

"She's a Legilimens?" Newt asked her curiously, eyebrows rising slightly.

Tina nodded. "It means she can look into people's minds, usually just what they're thinking about at the time," Tina explained, "unless she's actually trying. Then she can see things that are buried deeper."

"It's why I went to her for help, I knew she'd be able to find you all and where your effects were," Iliana added, wincing as she glanced at Tina. "I should probably apologize for holding her at wandpoint in a janitor's closet at some point."

Elvira snorted and Newt found himself holding her tighter. She squeezed his hand in response almost absently as Tina gave Iliana a thoroughly unamused look.

"You pulled a wand on my sister?" Tina demanded. "A wand you're not even supposed to have?"

"Sorry, what?" Jacob asked blankly. "I thought all you guys had wands? Do you have to earn 'em or something?"

Iliana huffed, leaning back against the side of one of Newt's cabinets. "In America, at least, you have to present your letter from Ilvermorny to purchase your first wand, and it's kept locked up at the school until you graduate. But if you're not allowed to go to Ilvermorny," Iliana continued leadingly. At seeing Jacob's still-confused look she sighed and explained bluntly, "I'm only half human, my mother was a veela. Ilvermorny doesn't deign to let _things_ like me pollute their halls."

"It's why I left school early," Elvira added. "I wasn't going to go to a school that wouldn't accept my baby sister too, so I left school about two years early."

"By the way," Iliana said, reaching into the pocket of her coat and pulling out a flask. She flicked the top open with her thumb and a puff of purple smoke was emitted. She waved it temptingly before her sister. Elvira's eyes lit up and she leaned forward eagerly. Iliana passed it over, nodding knowingly, "Yes, I thought you might need some?"

"My own potion for dealing with chronic pain," she added upon seeing Newt's faintly concerned expression. "It can only be taken sparingly, because it's ever so slightly poisonous, but it takes the sting out." She brought it to her mouth and down a quick mouthful, wincing as she did so and sticking out her tongue. "Unfortunately it tastes like goblin piss, but I have a feeling we've got a bit more to handle tonight."

"Graves always insisted the disturbances were caused by a beast," Tina said, looking to Newt. "We need to catch all your creatures so he can't keep using them as a scapegoat."

"There's only one still missing," Newt admitted. "Dougal, my demiguise."

"Dougal?" Jacob repeated slowly, looking bemused, while Elvira groaned, replacing the cap on the flask and tucking it away in her duster.

"Slight problem is that... He's invisible."

"Invisible?" Tina deadpanned.

"Yes, most of the time..."

"He does... How do you catch something that?" Iliana asked incredulously. "I mean, how did you get a hold of him the first time?

Newt winced. "With immense difficulty."

"So... are we just supposed to roam around New York until we find something that looks... invisible?" Jacob asked faintly. "Cuz that seems... pretty impossible."

"Gnarlak!" Tina exclaimed suddenly, but Elvira groaned, arching her back and burying her chin in her palm despondently.

"Excuse me?" Newt asked, looking between the two women blankly. Even Iliana was sneering at the unmistakably goblin name. "Who?"

"Gnarlak, he was an informant of mine when I was an Auror!" Tina continued eagerly. "He used to trade in magical creatures on the side."

Newt looked at her hopefully. "He wouldn't happen to have an interest in paw prints, would he?"

"He's interested in anything he can sell," Elvira said disdainfully. "And he's a giant pain in my ass. The amount of times he's sent people over to start shit in my bar trying to get rid of the competition..."

"He doesn't like not being the biggest fish in the pond," Iliana noted. "Literally or metaphorically. But he does tend to be... _annoyingly_ well informed."

* * *

The Blind Pig was situated below street level, behind a worn poster of a big-eyed redhead advertising something no one had ever paid much attention to. With the six of them crammed on the stairs leading down to the bricked-up wall, it was a little crammed and there was some shuffling as Tina and Queenie both drew their wands and flicked them, their casual streetwear turning into dresses suitable for a speakeasy. Tina was clad in a silver-grey and Queenie in a soft blush color, both of them turning to Elvira and Iliana. The sisters gave each other calculating looks and each flicked their wand at the other. Iliana was wrapped up in a mint green silk confection, a few jewels gleaming in her originally plain updo. Elvira's clothes melted away into a silky, sapphire gown that was cut a bit tighter than current fashion dictated but showed off curves Newt hadn't realized were hiding under her many layers. The girls glanced back and Newt gestured to his tie with his wand. It rewound itself into a neat knot, and Jacob was left as he was.

Tina tapped rhythmically on the poster and a secret panel slid open on the poster, revealing a pair of eyes staring at them from inside. It looked them up and down and then the peephole slammed shut. There was a faint clicking sound, and the brick swung open to admit them.

"This place has no charm," Elvira muttered as they stalked down the steps into the bar proper, where goblin woman was singing loudly and twirling around the tables to the slow, brassy music, entertaining the guests. Queenie and Jacob moved off to the bar while Iliana took up a position closer to the stage, cocking her head in professional interest as she watched the goblin woman make her way through the crowd. Tina, Newt, and Elvira all seated themselves at a table close to the entrance, none of them particularly eager to linger very long in the Pig.

"I've arrested half the people in here," Tina said, looking around as she shifted nervously in her chair.

"The other half owe me favors," Elvira noted, and Newt watched as she inclined her head to a man across the room who was almost certainly a vampire. The man smiled in reply, baring gleaming white fangs, and stretched, gesturing to the open space on his booth next to him and jerking his head invitingly. Newt flushed as Elvira leaned into him, pressing a hand to his chest as she curled against him. She shrugged and mouthed an unapologetic 'sorry,' to the vampire across the bar, who scowled but turned back to his conversation.

"Is that... Etienne Griswold?" Tina asked, looking at her with a mix of disbelief and intrigue. "Half the vampires on the East Coast answer to him."

"I helped him track down a fledgling vampire who stole something from him about three years ago," Elvira explained absently. "He's a huge flirt, always making passes when we met to discuss my progress."

Newt found himself suddenly very aware of the fact that he was apparently not the only male in New York City who found Elvira to be so attractive, especially considering there were a pair of wizards three tables over who were also shooting her speculative looks.

The goblin's song ended and another goblin emerged from around the corner. He had distinctive backwards-bent fingers, and Newt didn't need Tina's hiss of "It's him!" to guess this was Gnarlak. It was obvious in the way he was dressed that he had money and he strode around the place like he owned it. He seated himself in the empty chair at their table without so much as a by-your-leave and a house elf immediately appeared with a glass. Gnarlak took a sip, eyeing the beverage appreciatively, before turning to Newt.

"So... You're the guy with the case full of monsters, huh?"

Newt twitched. "News travels fast. I was hoping you'd be able to tell me if there have been any sightings. Tracks. That sort of thing."

"Your contacts all tapped out, Ellie?" Gnarlak asked, eyes flicking to Elvira mockingly, and Newt felt her tense where she was still pressed against him. "Not surprising."

"As you well know, the Cat ain't opening back up until this is all settled and I can get back there without MACUSA breathing down my neck."

Gnarlak shrugged. "Not much incentive for me to help you out then, is there? You've got a big price on your heads. Why should I help you instead of turnin' you in?" he asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"I take it Ill have to make it worth your while?" Newt asked, and it was very clear where this was heading.

"Let's consider it a cover charge," Gnarlak said carelessly, lifting a foul-smelling cigar to his mouth and holding it tightly between his teeth." Newt dug in his pocket, pulling out a small stack of coins that he slid across the table towards the goblin.

"MACUSA's offerin' more'n that."

Again, Newt dug in his pocket, this time producing a lunascope that he laid delicately on the table.

"Lunascope?" Gnarlak chuckled. "I got five."

For a third time, Newt dug in his pocket, this time gently lifting out a glowing, transparent egg. There was a slight rime of frost over the top of it and inside the coils of a serpent could be seen moving about gently.

"Frozen Ashwinder egg!" Gnarlak said, leaning forwards with interest. "You see, now were..." He froze and narrowed his eyes at something. Newt glanced down and realized that all the rummaging in his pockets had disturbed Pickett, who called Newt's coat his home. He had poked his head out to see what was going on. "Wait a minute. That's Bow... That's a Bowtruckle, right?"

"No," Newt said firmly, covering Pickett with one hand protectively, and Elvira glared across the table at Gnarlak, who asked eagerly,

"Come on. They pick locks, am I right?"

"You're not having him!" Newt insisted.

"Name something else, Gnarlak, you know I'm good for it," Elvira added irritably, leaning forwards. "You want some warding done, a shipment of cactus cat juice?"

Gnarlak narrowed his black eyes at her. "You feel like gettin' up off that re'em of yours?" he asked archly, and as Tina gasped, Elvira's lips thinned to a faint line and she leaned back against Newt once more, looking furious.

"Didn't think so." He pushed himself to his feet and started back towards his office, calling back over his shoulder. "Good luck gettin' back alive, Mr. Scamander, what with the whole of MACUSA on your back."

Elvira could feel the way Newt was trembling rattling through her as well as he watched the goblin's retreating back, and she closed her eyes and winced as he called out sorrowfully, "Alright."

Gnarlak paused, and when he turned and stalked back to their table there was a triumphant, malicious gleam in his eyes. He watched eagerly as Newt fought to untangle Pickett from his jacket, the bowtruckle desperately clinging to him. "Pickett..." he said faintly as the bowtruckle made plaintive litte squeaks, clearly understanding what was about to happen and tried to cling to Newt even harder.

Gnarlak snatched the bowtruckle from Newt's grip. "Somethin' invisible's been wreakin' havoc around Fifth Avenue. You may wanna check out Macy's department store. Might help with what you're looking for."

"Dougal," Newt whispered, but his eyes were glued to Pickett as if he couldn't bring himself to look away. "One last thing. There's a Mr. Graves who works at MACUSA. I was wondering what you knew of his background."

Gnarlak plucked his cigar from his mouth, rolling it between his fingers thoughtfully. "You ask a lot of questions, Mr. Scamander. That can get you killed."

 _"MACUSA are coming!"_

There was a crack as someone or something Disapparated, and in a flash the whole bar was in chaos as those who weren't on friendly terms with MACUSA fought to get out before the Aurors breached the bar. Iliana, Queenie, and Jacob rushed from the various posts they'd taken up around the bar.

Tina shot to her feet, palms slamming down onto the table. "You tipped them off" she accused the goblin, who merely laughed unapologetically in the face of her anger.

"Sorry, Mr. Gnarlak…," Jacob said casually, and the goblin turned questioningly, straight into a beautiful jab delivered by the No-Maj. "Reminds me of my foreman!" Jacob cheered as the goblin hit the ground, Pickett flying from his grasp.

Newt and Elvira shot off, scrambling around tables and chairs trying desperately to get a hold of the bowtruckle and guide him away from the worst of the panic, where he was liable to crushed under an unknowing shoe. The bowtruckle was fast and clearly scared, trying to get up off the floor and being jostled around as people knocked into chairs and tables.

Elvira saw him climbing up a table leg and seized him up a bit less gently than she would have normally, turning and reaching for Newt. The pair of them dodged a trio of goblins and made their way back to the others in the middle of the room, slamming into the huddle just as Iliana turned and stepped into nothingness.

* * *

Macy's was normally a beautiful, glittering sort of place, especially when it was all done up for Christmas, but when the lights were out and the customers that usually flooded the place were gone, it took on an eerie, abandoned air that the decorations somehow made even worse. They all fanned out among the displays in pairs, creeping along, looking for some sign of Dougal.

It came in the form of a purse that lifted itself from a display and began to bob its way slowly across the floor, seemingly suspended from nothing, heading deeper into the store. They all clustered around, hiding behind a display of Santa's workshop as they watched the demiguise carry the accessory around.

"So demiguises are fundamentally peaceful, but they can give a nasty nip if provoked," Newt whispered, trying not to spook the animal. "You two, head that way, and you two, the other way." Tina and Iliana nodded, splitting off to the right while Jacob and Queenie crept left. "And try very hard not to be predictable," Newt added, urging Elvira along at his side as they crept out from their hiding place, approaching the demiguise. It was visible now, barely knee high and covered in shaggy white-silvery hair, long, wise eyebrows drooping over its eyes. It was busy filling its purse from a display of Christmas candy that it had broken into, clinging to the side of the shelf.

A faint, screeching cry split the air and the demiguise lifted its head, looking up.

"That... wasn't the demiguise," Elvira guessed as it hopped off and began to creep towards a small door off to the side, labelled for employees. Newt chuckled, shaking his head fondly as he urged her forward. Dougal glanced back and saw them but seemed fairly unperturbed, almost as if he were checking to see if they were behind him before moving on.

"No, I think it might be the reason that the demiguise is here," Newt explained as the others came out of hiding, following them into a side storage room where stock was kept until it was ready to go onto the main floor of the store. Their shoes tapped against the stone floor while the demiguise moved silently, the purse hanging over one of its long arms.

"It's sight operates on probability, so it can foresee the most likely immediate future," Newt explained.

"So what's it doing?" Elvira asked uncertainly as she watched the demiguise reach the opposite end of the room and then stop, setting the purse gently on the ground and looking up.

"Its babysitting."

Elvira froze where she was, fighting her instinctive urge to loudly demand a further explanation. "Beg pardon?"

"This is my fault," Newt said, shaking his head self-depreciatingly. "I thought I had them all, but I must have miscounted."

There was a great shifting above them as massive coils of blue scales began to coil and shift among the rafters overhead. There was a faint rumbling and Dougal made a soft, chirruping sound as he dug into the purse and pulled out a gummy dusted in glittering sugar.

"It was babysitting that?" Tina said faintly, staring up at the occamy in muted horror and disbelief as it lowered its massive beaked head down from where it was coiled in the infrastructure of the store, leaning down towards the treat Dougal offered up. The candy looked comically small vanishing into the creature's massive mouth.

"Occamies are choranaptyxic, they grow to fill available space," Elvira supplied swiftly, and Newt shot her a pleased smile. He edged forward and Dougal obligingly moved back, allowing Newt to slowly approach with his hand extended, the same pose it seemed Elvira had seen him do a hundred times tonight at various points.

"Mummy's here," he whispered soothingly as he approached, the occamy dipping its now massive head to observe Newt's cautious approach.

There was a faint tinkling sound, almost like something jingling, and Elvira watched as a sparkling red glass Christmas ball rolled past her and up alongside Newt. The occamy didn't know what it was, it opened its mouth and squawked angrily, the coils beginning to shift and writhe above them as it thrashed in protest. Dougal hustled back, climbing up Jacob like he was a tree. Newt lunged, managing to grab on behind the occamy's head, and Elvira shrieked in surprise as a loop of scaly body dropped off of a rafter overhead and swung at her.

"We need an insect!" Newt yelled as he clung to the occamy. "Any kind of insect and a teapot! Find a teapot!"

"how are we supposed to fined anything in here!" Tina yelled, diving aside as a wing grew and scrabbled along the ground. She landed on top of a pile of crates that shattered beneath her, sending up a cloud of dust and making even more noise. Jacob and Queenie ran for it back into the aisles, trying to find some cover as the occamy continued to expand. The roof burst open on one side as its wing flared and smashed through the shingles.

Elvira and Iliana locked eyes across the room.

"Teapot!" Elvira yelled, and Iliana nodded.

"Bug!"

She began to shift, her body twisting and clicking until a small bird was all that was left, soaring down along the ground. Iliana was almost invisible, darting from shadow to shadow and dodging as the occamy knocked shelves over, scrambling through the dust and debris for a bug of any kind.

Elvira twirled her cane, her wand appearing in her hand, and pointed it at a nearby Christmas bauble. It was most assuredly not one of her best Transfigurations, as the china still bore the same snowflake pattern as the ornament had originally, but it would do in a pinch. She lifted up the lid and cried out, "Got the teapot!"

There was a swooping and sharp claws dug into the fabric of her coat over her shoulder. Elvira glanced up and found Iliana, still in bird form, perched on her shoulder, holding a struggling cockroach tightly in her beak. Elvira snatched the bug from her sister's beak and Iliana gave a short, sharp trill, launching off her shoulder again and finding someplace relatively safe to perch until this was all over, staying in her bird form in case she needed to hunt another bug.

The whole scene froze. Queenie was on her hands and knees, a roach skittering away from her reaching fingertips. Jacob was pinned up against a support beam, Dougal in the process of going invisible on his shoulder. He stroked the frozen occamy's scales nervously. Tina was braced under the junction of two more support beams, and Newt was still clinging onto the back of the occamy's head. The occamy, meanwhile, was fixed entirely on Elvira.

"Roach," Newt said slowly. "In teapot."

Elvira nodded her understanding, moving the roach side to side just a bit to insure that the occamy was, in fact, staring at the insect and not her. The head followed her movements and Elvira tossed the roach lightly into the air. The occamy cried out and surged once more, coils of scale coming up and over and around all at once as it began to untangle itself from the ruined storeroom. Newt dropped off the occamy's head and rolled, grabbing up the lid of a badly-dented stockpot while Elvira fought to hold the teapot still. The occamy was still surging down, down, down into it, the body thinning as it went, but it still exerted a hell of a lot of force as it went after the roach. The tail vanished inside and Newt acted, smacking the overlarge lid down on top of the teapot securely.

"Choranaptyxic," Newt repeated in satisfaction, the pair of them panting as they suspended the teapot between them. "They also shrink to fit the available space."

Tina emerged from underneath the beams cautiously, eyeing the teapot as if waiting for the occamy to expand once more and shatter its way out. "Tell me the truth. Was that everything that came out of the case?" she asked sternly.

Newt nodded wearily. "That's everything. And that's the truth."

It took a series of Reparos from everybody before the storage room was set to rights, Jacob assigned to hold the teapot securely while the rest of them worked. Seeing as they were in the storage room of a closed No-Maj store, it was a fairly safe place for them to hunker down for a moment, and so Newt set his case on the ground and ushered everyone inside. Tina, Queenie, and Iliana all stared around in awe at the inside of the case, having never seen more than the inside of Newt's workspace, and Queenie not even that. As Jacob helped Dougal up into his nest, Newt gently slid the occamy back into the next and then looked around, smiling in satisfaction at the expressions of awe and interest on the other's faces. It gave him a small burst of energy - it wasn't useless, what he was doing, no matter what people said. The looks of fascination on the faces of his new friends as they looked around at his creatures proved it.

He slid his hand into his pocket and winced as something sharp slashed at his hand. He spotted Elvira, sitting alone near the edge of Frank's enclosure, her cane resting beside her as she leaned against the sun-warmed stones. Newt drew his hand from his pocket as he began to pick his way through the suitcase towards her, Pickett coming out too.

"Right. I think we need to talk. I wouldn't have let him keep you, Pickett," Newt assured the bowtruckle, and only got an angry chatter in reply. "Pick, I would rather chop off my hand than get rid of you. After everything you have done for me, now come on." The bowtruckle turned his back to Newt's face resolutely and Newt continued patiently, "Pick, we've talked about sulking before, haven't we?" "Pickett... Come on, give me a smile. Pickett, give me a..." The bowtruckle returned by sticking out his tongue and blowing a very tiny and adorable raspberry at him. "Alright. Now, that is beneath you."

He paused by a worktable, eyes darting up to Elvira and back down again. She was sitting peacefully, but like she'd sensed his attention, she turned to face him and offered a small, weary smile. Newt, too, was starting to feel tired. They'd been up close to an entire day by now, and what a day it had been! He couldn't think of anyone else he would rather have spent it with, though. From watching Elvira dive out of the way of the erumpent to slinging spells at Aurors to coaxing an occamy into a teapot, she was a woman after his own heart and, knowing how much they'd been through together though it had only been a few hours, Newt wasn't suite sure if it was normal, how attached to her he'd come in the course of the evening.

"Newt, who is she?" asked Queenie's soft, absent voice. Newt looked up and saw her gesturing to the portrait of Leta, one he used to look at daily but, since he'd placed Elvira's picture alongside it, he couldn't remember the last time Leta's cocky smirk and elegantly-set hair had drawn his eyes.

"That's no one," Newt said swiftly, glancing at Elvira. It somehow felt wrong to think about Leta the way he used to when she was sitting right there, and that probably meant something.

"Leta Lestrange?" Queenie said for herself. "I've heard of that family. Aren't they kinda... you know?"

"Please don't read my mind," Newt said a bit sharper than he intended to. Leta wasn't a topic he wanted to get into, not right now. Not while his time with Elvira was probably rapidly dwindling. He sighed and turned back to his work. He heard Queenie's faint steps as she came down from his little shack and, if he focused, he could just feel the faintest of tugs at the back of his mind. He dropped his leaves and turned to stare at her fully. "Sorry, I asked you not to."

"I know, I'm sorry. I can't help it," Queenie said apologetically. "People are easiest to read when they're hurting."

"I'm not hurting," Newt replied instinctively. "And anyway, it was a long time ago." He turned back to his work, sorting through leaves and picking out the ones that were dried or had brown spots on them. He could feel Queenie still there at his side. He was almost as aware of her as he was of Elvira sitting in the sun, absently playing with the end of her braid and slowly working her knee, bending and straightening the leg as she massaged her patella.

"That was a real close friendship you had at school," Queenie offered up, and Newt realized she wasn't going to be deterred.

"Neither of us really fitted in at school. So we became quite..." He trailed off, uncertain.

"You became real close. For years," Queenie finished for him, and for once he wasn't quite as upset. It made it easy, when he didn't have the words. "She was a taker. You need a giver." Queenie smiled at him sympathetically. "You're right, Mr. Scamander. You're not hurting. Least, not as much as you used to be. And Miss Elvira?" Queenie smiled and nodded at him encouragingly. "She's a giver."

Newt stared at the woman blankly for a moment, trying to decide whether he should be glad that he had some external sign that he wasn't entirely mad for thinking there was something between himself and Elvira and feeling horrifically embarrassed that Queenie had no doubt picked up on every sappy thought he'd had about her.

It was Tina who broke the tension, strutting down a ramp leading into one of the enclosures. "What are you two talking about?" she asked curiously, spotting them by the worktable.

"Nothing," Queenie said swiftly, and Newt was glad he could rely on her discretion. "School."

"School," Newt agreed dully as he watched Elvira rise from her spot, shoot a wistful smile in the direction of where Frank perched at the top of one of the stony columns, and began to approach the shed.

"Did you say school?" Jacob asked curiously, appearing from the direction of Dougal's little nest. "Is there a school? A... wizardry school here? In America?"

Queenie beamed at him. "Of course, Ilvermorny! Its only _the_ best wizard school in the whole world!"

A bit of pride flashed in Newt and he corrected her gently, "I think you'll find the best wizarding school in the world is Hogwarts."

Queenie gave him an offended stare for daring to suggest such a thing. "Hogwash!" she pronounced, and folded her hands in front of herself. "Ca-caw, ca-caw! Purr, purr!" She stomped her foot twice and began to sing to a simple, lyrical melody, a song that she plainly knew by heart.

 _"We stand as one, united, against the Puritan. We draw our inspiration from good witch Morrigan. For she was persecuted by common wandless men so she fled from distant Ireland, and so our school began. Oh! Ilvermorny-Massachusetts! We choo-choose it!"_

 _"We choo-choose it!"_ Tina echoed, joining in the song.

 _"The wizard school supreme."_ As Newt watched, Elvira's lips began to move, her voice to quiet to catch at first, but as the song continued a faint sparkle began in her eyes and Newt knew that no matter how much Elvira hated the place for rejecting her sister, she had enjoyed her time at Ilvermorny as much as he had enjoyed his time at Hogwarts. _"Your castle walls, they kept us safe. The days with you, a dream. You taught us all our magic and now one thing's quite clear: where'er we roam!"_

 _"Where'er we roam!"_

 _"Our one true home!"_

 _"Our one and own!"_

 _"Is Ilvermorny dear!"_

The three witches were all smiling and laughing as they finished their little song and as much as Tina and Queenie seemed to enjoy his and Jacob's applause, he saw Elvira's smile faltering. Iliana's expression, too, was one of wistful nostalgia, like she was staring at something she'd long ago given up. The sisters exchanged a meaningful look, Elvira seeming almost apologetic, and once more Newt wished he and Theseus had managed to be that close.

It was at that moment that lightning flashed incredibly close to them, thunder rolling through the suitcase and setting several of the animals chattering and scurrying nervously at the sound. High above them, Frank had leapt off his rock column and was beating the air with his wings, letting out shrill warning cries as the weather turned worse around him. Just like that, Newt's stomach dropped as he recalled that while his creatures were back where they belonged, there was still an Obscurial out there somewhere that was the source of the actual attacks.

Elvira met his gaze from across the table and nodded grimly.

"Danger," Newt announced in reply to the questioning looks. "He senses danger."


	19. Chapter 19

Modesty was gone, wisely fled the church. Ma was dead, dead on the floor at the base of the stairs with those horrible cracks running through grey skin. Chastity was dead, crushed under part of the roof that had come down when the church was torn through by... by him. By Credence. He had killed his ma, his sister, and killing was a sin, he was a sinner, a monster, no wonder Iliana had left him. Three days, no, she had simply seen the evil inside of him and fled before it could be unleashed on her, and he couldn't even blame her for it. The Obscurial was here? Where did she go? Help me. Help me. Didnt you tell me you had another sister?

Credence was left curled in a corner, unable to stop the frantic whimpering leaving him, trying desperately to figure out what to do. Could he just kill himself? He'd often through the world would be a better place without him, and maybe he'd always been right. Maybe if he killed himself, whatever evil was inside of him would go away and no one else would get hurt... but Iliana, when he had hinted his thoughts drifted that direction sometimes, had been so horrified. She had clutched his hands and looked up at him with big, earnest blue eyes that begged him to never, ever even think such a thing, and he found that even after she was gone he was too pathetically attached to her to do something she had asked him not to.

"The Obscurial, she was here," Mr. Graves said, kneeling beside him and reaching out, cradling Credence's head as he sagged over a broken bit of pew. At some point he'd reached up to touch the pendant the man had given him, that must have summoned him here.

"Please help me," Credence moaned, because it didn't matter what happened from here on out he needed help. Maybe, maybe Mr. Graves would be kind enough to destroy him.

Didn't you tell me you had another sister, Credence?" Graves insisted.

"Please, help me," Credence sobbed, and he felt ashamed of himself at the sensation of droll running down his chin from the force of his sobs. He was a wreck, he deserved to be obliterated.

"The little one? Where did she go?"

"Please..." Credence jerked as Graves slammed a fist into his eye, instantly going still and quiet. Ma's hits had been about that hard, so Graves was pulling his punches, but he jostled Credence roughly.

Slowly, Credence began to piece things together. Mr. Graves, for whatever reason, thought that Modesty was the child in his vision. He thought she was the one who had the power. But that power was inside of Credence, roiling in rage at the strike and begging to be unleashed against the older man for daring to strike him, for treating him the same as Ma always had.

"Your sisters in grave danger. We need to find her," Graves growled, and a slow, creeping sense of horror stole over him as he realized that he had been played. This whole time, Graves had been lying to him. The man couldn't care less about Credence, so long as he had his precious child from his vision.

Slowly, Credence stretched out his hands and pressed them to the ground, lifting himself up. He was still shaking from his sobs, his head pounding a little from dehydration, but he was on his feet and he knew what he had to do. He would take Graves to Modesty, he was pretty sure he knew where she'd gone. And once they were there, Mr. Graves would show his true colors and Credence would have his answer, whether the faith he had in the man that was now hanging by a threat was all for naught or if Graves really intended to keep his promise.

Credence slowly walked out of the church and he heard Graves coming behind him, but he barely acknowledged the man, tracing the path his feet knew well through the streets. He could probably walk the length and breadth of Manhattan with his eyes closed at this point, walking had been his only salvation from the oppression of Ma's rule in the church.

Iliana, she had been his one hope, his one prayer that someone, somewhere, might love him. But she was gone, he'd seen no sign of her in days when before it seemed he used to see her on every street corner. He could feel her as a presence tickling against his skin before he could even lay eyes on her, but for days that part of him that always seemed to know when she was around had been dull and cold. Had she thought of him at all? Did she wonder about him, or had he been brushed from her mind so easily?

"What is this place?" Graves demanded as they approached the front door of an old, delapidated tenement, too run down for even the most desperate to chance it. The place was all story brickwork and rotting wood inside, and Credence wouldn't have dared to go in if he hadn't been there before, hadn't let Modesty lead him here with her fingers on his wrist, telling him about the people who used to live here, which ones she liked and which ones she didn't like, and that this place had actually been better than the dingy church on Pike Street.

"Ma adopted Modesty out of here. From a family of twelve," Credence said numbly as he mounted the stairs. Graves brushed past him, and Credence found himself lingering on the stairs as Graves made the landing and looked around himself, up and down the dingy hallways. "She misses her brothers and sisters. She still talks about them."

"Where is she?" Graves asked, and his attention was all directed towards the floor around them, looking for any sign that the girl had passed this way.

"I don't know," Credence admitted softly. He knew she was here, somewhere in the building. He wasn't sure how, but he did know that much. Where, exactly, she'd taken cover was a mystery, however."

Graces shot him a dismissive look as he stalked along the railing that shielded the stairs, peering into one open room at the end of the hall. "You're a Squib, Credence." there was no hiding the disgust in his words. "I could smell it off you the minute I met you."

Credence knew what that word meant, and he also knew it was an insult to witches and wizards. And he was a wizard, he knew that for a fact. Graves did not, however, This whole time, Graves had thought he was something... broken. Defective. A dud. But Graves had led him on, had promised to teach him to use power the man thought he didn't have, offered him the keys to control his own life, thinking full well that Credence would never be able to do so much as turn a teacup into a dishtowel.

"What?" Credence whispered, closing his eyes and praying, praying, that Graves would laugh and say he was kidding, that he knew Credence had power. That maybe, just maybe, there was still one person in the world who gave any kind of damn about him. He'd driven away Iliana, had now driven away Modesty, and Mr. Graves, it seemed, might never have been on his side at all. He was a fool for falling for it.

He was a fool for praying, too. His prayers never came true. He was too evil for that.

"You have magical ancestry, but no power," Graves said dismissively, stalking to the other end of the hallway and ignoring the look of agony slowly breaking across Credence's face

"But you said you could teach me." Credence tried, one last time, to salvage something, anything, of the few threads of happiness he'd managed to snatch for himself in the past few weeks before whatever it was that was so black and evil that lived inside him tore it all to shreds.

"You're unteachable," Graves snapped, sending him an irritated look, as if Credence were _bothering_ him trying to salvage some of his sanity. "Your mother's dead. That's your reward. I'm done with you."

He said it so coldly, so dismissively, and then he moved off. Credence could hear him moving through the rooms, calling Modesty's name. He was shaking, his hands trembling as he fought to control the darkness thrashing inside of his chest, trying to break free, to rip Graves apart of lying to him and betraying him. It had already ripped Ma and Chastity apart, why shouldn't it go on to feed on all of Manhattan? What had the city ever done for Credence? So many people had ignored his silent cries for help, women who paled at the sight of his mangled hands and then swiftly moved on, children who cried out insults that somehow still stuck deep into his skin, men who took it upon themselves to drag him into an alleyway and bring still more pain into his life.

Iliana... Credence could see her there, dancing before his eyes. The smile she gave him when he did something well in lessons, the way she would fold her hands around one of his. The memory of sitting on her couch while Elvira patched him up, watching in quiet awe as Iliana cuddled his hand to her chest and dropped absent-minded kisses along the battered flesh. Nights spent sitting in the park, whispering back and forth about things Ma would have skinned him for even thinking of, and how her hair seemed to catch and reflect the moonlight so that she fairly glowed. The way, just a handful of times, he had said something that made her laugh, throw her head back unashamedly in mirth, and he had felt so warm and proud inside. She was everything he had ever wanted in his short, pathetic life, everything that was warm and strong and compassionate...

And he couldn't even blame her for wanting to get as far away from whatever kind of monster he was.

He didn't even realize he was doing it until it happened, the monster in his gut rising up and roaring in approval. Since that time Iliana had slipped her magic into him he had known what it was in the back of his mind - it was a portion of his magic that reacted to his anger and betrayal, reaching out and ripping through the thin walls of the tenement, tearing holes between three rooms until he would see Graves standing there and Modesty cowering under a desk, plaster dust filling the air around them as Graves stared at Credence's quivering body in quiet disbelief.

"Credence, I owe you an apology."

Yes, of course. Now Graves was going to try and backpedal, because now Credence was useful to him. All this power that he had, that he didn't know what to do with, that he had only the vaguest idea of how to use. That was all he was good for, to be used by other people to further their own goals, whether it was Ma's crusade against magic or Graves' vision for the wizarding world.

"I trusted you," he whimpered. "I thought you were my friend. That you were different."

"You can control it, Credence," Graves said, and there it was, the slightest tinge of uncertainty and fear, and Credence knew whatever was inside of him, it had to be stronger, to be better, than the wretched thing he was now. What had control of it ever gotten him, aside from sleepless nights and headaches that made his eyes water and a roiling stomach?

Before his eyes, Iliana's image flashed once more, but it was distant and indistinct, her smile facing into a frown even as he watched. She vanished, and there was just Graves and his lies.

"But I don't think I want to, Mr. Graves."

Credence released his hold on his body, and surrendered.

* * *

They'd left the Macy's and found a tall building, scaffolding holding up a sign that read Squire's in brilliant lights, a place no one was likely to make of with Newt's case while they were inside. They'd emerged onto the roof to see what had Frank so upset. It was there that the six of them were huddled against the chilly December wind as the great gout of black, oozing smoke tore through Manhattan, ripping up and down streets. Signs were torn from the front of businesses, glass windows shattered and sprayed across the sidewalks, and flagstones ripped up and hurled with dangerous force. Cars were tipped over like they were nothing and people ran, screaming, in fear from something they couldn't comprehend.

Elvira felt her stomach clench as she saw it. It had been bad enough just seeing the one Newt had kept inside his case, the one he'd pulled from the Sudanese girl, but to see one out and wreaking havoc sent her mind into a tailspin. She remembered how the Obscurus in Thomas Crane seemed to blot out the sun it was so dark, the way it had reduced a sturdy farmhouse to so much kindling and chips of brick, the way it had thrashed and let of the most horrific growls and shrieks as it moved. The way those sounds had blended with Ellis's cries of pain when the Obscurus scooped him up and trapped him.

Elvira only realized her breathing had gone shallow when Newt's hand slid into hers, wrapping around her fingers tightly, and a wave of release rushed over her, easing some of the tension in her body.

"Jeez. Is that the Obscurial-thing?" Jacob asked, staring at it in horror as it continued to tear its way through the streets of Manhattan.

"Annie," Elvira whispered, turning to her sister. She had never seen one in the flesh before, and this one dwarfed the Obscurus she'd seen in Utah years ago. "I think... I think you were right about the Barebone woman. I think..."

Iliana's eyes widened, an expression of horror washing over her face as she realized. "Oh... _Modesty_ ," she breathed, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. "Sweet Sayre, the poor girl."

"You know her," Newt said, looking at Iliana hopefully. "Do you think you could help? Do you think that perhaps you could... talk her down in some way?"

Iliana's mouth dropped open and she looked around helplessly. Yes, she knew Modesty, but she'd only really spoken to the girl once. She knew the girl liked her, but still. They were hardly all that close, and Iliana wasn't honestly sure if the girl could be reached. Looking out and seeing the writhing ball of dark magic, it was hard to imagine there was even still sweet little Modesty in there to be reached.

"I don't know," Iliana admitted worriedly. "I don't know if she trusts me enough, I'm honestly not certain. I... I would like to try though," she said determinedly, because Credence loved his little sister and it had been three days. Tomorrow she would go to the church on Pike Street, she would take Modesty home and speak with Credence and they would hash out everything that had been building between them. Perhaps Modesty could join their magic lessons, learn how to control herself, and everything would be as it should. It was a pipe dream, but it was so much better to dream for something beyond reach than to face the grim reality of what the night might bring. "I might be able to."

"That's more powerful than any Obscurial I have ever heard of," Newt whispered, glancing back over his shoulder at the Obscurus nervously. He turned to Elvira, the only person on the roof he trusted with such a grave, important task. "If I don't come back, look after my creatures," he beseeched her, pressing his case into her hands and digging into his pocket for his field journal, offering it as well. "Everything that you need to know is in there."

Elvira glared, setting the case down sharply and grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket to keep him from Apparating off into the fray without her. "You listen here, English. No way in hell am I letting you go down there without me, especially not if Iliana is going too!" She reached up, grabbing his chin and offering him a somewhat shaky smile. "You think I'm gonna let you too run off and have all the fun without me?"

"I-" Newt blinked, not quite sure what to say to that. His mind was spinning, because he wanted nothing more than to both keep her by his side and send her as far away from this as possible. For a moment, he thought about pointing out that her leg would limit her ability to race through the streets but that would just have the side effect of making her _angry_ and at his side instead of just at his side. He knew there was no way he would be able to force her to stay put, and he didn't want to force her to do anything anyway.

Newt managed a faint smile. "I am never going to win an argument with you, am I?"

Elvira drew herself up, eyes flashing with mischief as she replied lightly, "No, probably not." She bent down, setting the field journal over top of the suitcase and whispered tracing shapes on top of the aged leather with her fingers. Newt watched as sparking yellow lines followed her path, and then there was a flash that was more the absence of light, and the suitcase was gone.

"It's in my apartment now, safe and sound," she assured him. "That place is warded even tighter than the Cactus Cat." She turned to look at Iliana, upon whom most of their open was currently relying. Her sister was pale and scared. Elvira had grown up doing things like this, leaping head first into danger when the Aurors were too slow or too pig-headed to get involved soon enough. Iliana had as well, but not nearly to the same extent. She'd always been more for her books and essays than for the action that Elvira lived for. It was a hell of a lot to ask of her, of anyone, but the Aurors would certainly kill Modesty if they got to her first and there was no time for the preparations required for the Ramirez ritual. Their only hope was to get Modesty calmed down and subdued enough to spirit her away somewhere safe where she could be contained and protected until they figured out how to help her.

"I'm coming too," Tina said, stepping forward sharply. "I still have some friends in the Auror's office, maybe I can help keep them sidetracked. I saw what she was doing to those kids, and maybe if I'd been smarter about it," she winced, offering Elvira a self-depreciating look, "I could have done something about it. It might not have gotten to this point."

Elvira grabbed Newt's hand, seizing Iliana with her other, and Tina put her hand on Newt's shoulder. All at once, they vanished and Queenie stepped forward, perching on the edge of the building.

"No, no, no!" Jacob protested, seizing her arm and trying to hold her. Queenie closed her eyes.

"I can't take you," she murmured. "Please let go of me, Jacob!"

He leaned in and he was so sweet, he thought such nice things about her in his mind. He baked, he took long walks in the park, he wanted a big family some day. He was a No-Maj, she should never even have met him, and yet his mind was so fascinating, so simple and so complicated at the same time.

"You're the one that said I was one of yous, right?" he asked earnestly, leaning in pleadingly.

Queenie hardened herself, because she knew that she could bring him along, but that Jacob would be more vulnerable than any of them without magic on his side. "It's too dangerous."

If it was dangerous, he didn't want her to go either. He wanted to make sure that she was safe, that she didn't so much as scuff the toe of her shoe, and he'd happily face down whatever that was down there, he still wasn't sure of the fine print, if it meant she was okay. As those thoughts trailed through his mind, Queenie found herself turning, placing a hand on his cheek.

"You really are a sweetie, ain't ya?" she murmured.

As the others appeared below, the streets were nearly clear of No-Majs. The vast majority had fled or were in the process of fleeing the stretch of street the Obscurus was busily trashing. The place was still a mess, sparks flying from torn electrical wires, small fires breaking out, and things flying through the air as the Obscurus thrashed around.

And, walking through it all, was Percival Graves, arms spread wide as he addressed the Obscurus above him.

"To survive so long, with this inside you, Credence, is a miracle!" He sounded utterly enraptured as he stared up at the mass of Dark magic above him and Iliana froze in place. "You are a miracle. Come with me, think of what we could achieve together."

"No," Iliana breathed, staring up in disbelief at the ball of writhing Dark magic Credence had become. But she knew in a moment it was true, she should have guessed long ago, from that first time she slipped her magic into him and felt that unfathomable well of Dark magic, exactly what he was. But the idea was so horrifying, Obscurials were so rare and always much younger than he. Was it terrible that she had not stopped to consider it could be him?

The mass shrieked wordlessly and tore up the street, knocking Graves flat on his back. Newt grabbed Elvira and yanked and the four of them moved, crouching behind a tipped-over car. The Obscurial hit the side of a building and bounced off, streaming up into the night sky.

"Iliana..." Elvira grabbed her sister's arm tightly, and Iliana jerked, staring at her sister with a stricken expression. She couldn't imagine the amount of pain and suffering Credence must have gone through, to be pushed to this point and still manage to hold on to his sanity as well as he had.

"He's not a child!" Tina protested weakly as, slowly, Graves climbed to his feet, obviously back on his heels from the force of the strike, the Obscurus wheeling off deeper into Manhattan.

Newt just stared helplessly at the mass. "His power must be so strong, he's somehow managed to survive."

"Save him." Tina's expression was fiercely determined as she tore from behind the car, wand drawn, crying out as she went, "Mr. Graves!" She met her ex-boss with a spell leading the way.

The other three took off, pops and cracks completely drowned out by the noise of the Obscurus as they separated and began jumping from rooftop to rooftop, crossing blocks in seconds, trying to keep pace and figure out where the Obscurus was going to land next.

It was Newt who managed to get in front of it by sheer dumb luck, Apparating directly in its path as it swerved across a block. He threw up his hands defensively, calling out as he did, "Credence! Credence, I can help you!" The Obscurus didn't even acknowledge him, continuing to tear through the night, and Newt was forced to Apparate away or be knocked off the side of the building.

Suddenly there were more pops and cracks and Aurors were everywhere, moving as they did, Apparating from rooftop to rooftop. Spells were launched into the sky, connecting with the black mass in bright bursts of light and booms like thunderclaps. The Obscurus shuddered and writhed and Iliana screamed in wordless protest, running along the top of a block of apartments as she tracked Credence's form with her eyes. He was hurt, that was obvious, he was starting to descend, the mass seeming to loose some of its stability as he slammed into the side of a building and began to drop even faster.

The three of them landed on a roof together, Elvira swaying dangerous and grabbing her sister for support as she watched Credence scream down the road towards a line of police cars barricading the road leading to a subway hub. The police were out of their cars, pointing their sidearms and shotguns firmly at the mass approaching them, and Iliana screamed once again. Spells had hurt him, but she had no way of knowing if bullets could cause him harm. Perhaps they would just fly right through, or perhaps they would kill him. Nothing was certain, and she hated it.

The police officers scattered as their cars went flying and the Obscurus shot heavenward, reaching a height almost three times as high as the building it hung over, before slamming back to the ground, exploding in a wave of thick, black smoke and snaps of sharp, red light. In a second, all of those trailing tendrils were sucked back into the epicenter of the strike, beginning to slowly coagulate into the form of a skinny, pale young man, staggering towards the entrance to the subway.

"Let me go first," Iliana murmured, and vanished with a pop. Elvira gave Newt a look that spoke volumes of how terrified she was for her sister, and Newt managed to give her a supportive half-smile in reply.

"She will be fine. She knows the boy better than any of us."

Elvira nodded, biting her lip, and they both vanished as well.

Newt and Elvira lingered on the stairs leaning down from City Hall to the tracks, trying to stay as out of the way as possible so as not to upset Credence further. They would be nearby in case he lashed out at Iliana, but for now it was down to her to try and talk him out, get him stabilized.

Iliana stood on the platform, looking around worriedly as she tried to find some trace of Credence. "Credence?" she called uncertainly, and it was so abnormally quiet that her voice echoed clearly back to her off the tiled walls. She saw it then, the thick, oozing smoke clinging to the walls of the opposite track, slowly sliding down. Iliana flicked her wand, a plank of wood appearing, and crossed the open tracks to the other side, vanishing the bridge behind her. She peered at the sludge, trying desperately to find some trace of Credence in it - a battered hand, a bit of pale skin, a dark eye, perhaps even that silly hat of his that she had secretly always rather liked on him.

As she watched, it began to drip down the walls with a little more purpose, slowly coalescing into something dark and huddled alongside one of the rails. Iliana edged forward, glancing back to see Newt and Elvira lingering behind one of the pillars.

She pressed on, edging closer to him. "Credence, please. It's me, Iliana." She offered a shaky smile, though she wasn't sure he could see it in the state he was in, dropping into a crouch beside the rails. "It's been three days, darling. I've been looking for you."

Finally, the trailing bits of smog vanished and there was Credence, sitting cross-legged in the gravel on the other side of the rail. He was trembling, his jaw tight, and there was a wild, cornered quality in his eyes that made her wary, but he was still Credence, and it still made her heart pick up just the slightest bit to see him, made her want to reach out and wipe away all his pain the same way it always had.

"Iliana?" His voice was hoarse, like he'd been screaming or crying, and perhaps he had, or perhaps that was just what happened after an Obscurus manifested. He was staring at her like he was only half-convinced she was actually there. "You left."

"Oh," Iliana breathed, realizing how badly she had messed up. To Credence, who had known nothing but rejection, Disapparating from his room with barely a note must have seemed so... final. And it was late at night, what if he'd been expecting her to appear at the church all day but she had never come. Had _she_ somehow caused this rampage? "Great Greylock, no! Credence," she said, slowly rising to her feet and taking a cautious step towards him. "Please, you have to understand I just needed to sort through my own head, I never meant to argh!"

Iliana went flying as the spell connected with her, sending her sprawling along the tracks. Graves stepped into view, wand raised to strike at her again. From behind the pillar Elvira and Newt came flying, Elvira moving to her sister's side and Newt aiming his wand at Graves. Credence stared in horror as spells began to flash in every direction, staggering back towards the relative safety of the darkness of the tunnel.

"Are you okay, are you hurt?" Elvira demanded, dropping to her knees beside Elvira in a skid that kicked up loose gravel and sent it pinging against the walls. She raised her wand, running scan after scan for injuries as Iliana moaned weakly, her bare arms shredded and her stockings ripped and bloody where she'd skidded along the stones.

"Credence," Iliana whispered around a pained wince as she tilted her head, peering into the darkness. She stretched out her hand towards his shuddering figure, her arm scraping through the gravel.

There was a cry behind them and Elvira whipped around, revealing Newt writhing on the ground, body splayed across the bent and twisted tracks as Graves pumped strike after strike of electricity into the metal, watching Newt's body seize from the charge.

"Get the hell away from him!" Elvira roared, and threw up one hand. Graves was flung, slamming into the tiled side of the tunnel, and Elvira reached out, flicking her wrist and tangling her fingers into a formation. Newt was lifted off the rails and yanked through the air to her side, settled down gently on her other side. Elvira crouched between her downed sister and... hell, no use denying it, the man she was half in love with, feeling somehow simultaneously completely helpless and utterly wrathful as Graves picked himself up and glared down at her.

"Blödgarmr," he greeted her coldly. "You and your sister should have been destroyed years ago."

Elvira snarled. "Better men than you have tried, Graves, and we're still standing."

Credence exploded once more, his form ripping apart, and this time there was nothing to do but dodge as well as they could. The mass of Dark magic tore from one end of the station to the other, flinging itself back and forth. It slammed into the walls, sending tiles streaming to the ground as they shattered, producing an oddly sharp counterpoint to the dull booms of it connecting. Somehow, Elvira and Newt ended up clutching each other, Disapparating together, and Iliana was already gone, crouching beside a pillar for safety. Graves vanished and reappeared on the opposite platform, forced to move once more as the Obscurial headed for him.

The smoke burst upwards, tearing through the roof of the station and shooting into the sky. From below, it was impossible to see for anyone but Graves, who rushed to see what had happened. He was forced to throw himself out of the way once more as Credence slammed back down through the same opening into the tunnel, dragging with him a shower of dirt, broken concrete, torn pipes, and trailing wires. The smoke spread along the ceiling, creeping across the surface menacingly.

Iliana jumped up from her spot, limping slightly from the pain in her skinned knees as she staggered forward, reaching up to Credence pleadingly. "Credence, stop this, please! You're hurting us! I know you don't want that!"

The darkness paused and began to slowly coalesce, forming a spinning, shifting globe that dragged streamers of magic through the air around it as it floated below the hole. It was not Credence, but she could feel him listening, knew that she'd gotten his attention, managed to calm him a little. At the very least, he was no longer flinging himself around randomly, and she'd take that as a victory.

"Keep talking, Iliana," Newt urged her, clinging tightly to Elvira as they watched Iliana's slow approach. "You can get through to him. He's listening."

"Credence..." Iliana whispered. "Please. This is not you, this is what your Ma did to you. I know you, I know you wouldn't hurt a fly, I know you wouldn't lay a hand on me." She smiled. "I know you are the sweetest, kindest man I've ever met and I adore that about you." Motion caught her attention. It was Graves, on his feet once more, and eyeing her calculatingly. Iliana pointed at him damningly. "This man is using you."

"Don't listen to her, Credence," Graves said swiftly, turning to look at the Obscurus instead, an expression of such sincerity on his face it was terrifyingly believable. "I want you to be free. It's all right."

"Credence," Iliana pleaded. "Come back to me, please."

Footsteps, loud and clattering, coming down the stairs and up the rails. Aurors, all decked out in fedoras, their wands raised high. The Obscurus picked up speed, spinning in a faster, jerkier pattern, and Iliana resisted the urge to turn and scream them all into submission for being so stupid when she almost had them.

"Wands down!" Graves barked, whipping to face the Aurors, his voice ringing with authority, and Iliana was glad of it in that moment. She took several steps closer to the Obscurus, heedless of its agitation. "Anyone harms him, they'll answer to me."

"No," President Picquery stated calmly, appearing from within the ranks of Aurors surrounding the station. "They answer to me."

Graves's eyes narrowed in dislike. "Madam President..."

"Credence," Iliana whispered, stretching out her hand in the direction of the Oscurus's writhing, and she felt it then, a brush of skin, and then the globe began to shrink and tighten, and there was a hand, and arm, a face that looked so utterly broken emerging from the blackness, nearly fully solid.

 _"Iliana..."_ Credence moaned, and his hold on her hand tightened desperately as she smiled at him affectionately.

"They will do as I say," President Picquery stated, her voice echoing. " _Fire!"_

 _"No!"_


	20. Chapter 20

As the Aurors struck, wands sending stream after stream of magic in Credence's direction, Newt and Elvira both yelled in protest, but it was Iliana's scream that was loudest. She dropped Credence's hand and swung her arms viciously. Fire exploded from the ground, streaming up towards the ceiling. The tiles there instantly charred, going blackened and cracked from the heat and force. It was blindingly bright as around the station people were forced to throw up their arms to defend against the wash of light and hot air. The spells connected with the fire and were harmlessly absorbed in a shower of cinders.

The fire snapped together, pulling out of its original cylindrical form, revealing a fully human and stunned-looking Credence staring blankly at Iliana. She stood before the Aurors, glaring at them with enough venom to make several of them take a sharp step back. The fire was collected around her arms, crackling harmlessly against her clothes and lighting her with an unholy glow. The flames, if one looked closely, almost seemed to resemble wings where they draped down behind her shoulders.

"You touch him," Iliana growled, and her voice was shockingly vicious and commanding as she spoke, "and I will burn you alive."

President Picquery's mouth thinned, but it was plain to see even she hadn't been expecting such a display of magic from the younger woman. "Miss Velikova, that thing is a danger to the Statute of Secrecy and we are here to see it destroyed. You have no right to interfere in MACUSA business, and you will step aside and hand it over."

Iliana's mouth turned down at the corners, the fire drawing tighter against her skin. " _You. Can't. Have. Him._ "

Picquery scowled, twitching a bit in her annoyance at being addressed like that by a woman who had nowhere near her level of authority. "You can't stop us," she replied simply.

Iliana smiled. "Hide and watch me." The fire exploded from her in a wave as the Aurors launched yet another attack, and when the smoke cleared there was nothing but a massive scorch mark where they'd stood, trailing bits of oily black smoke drifting through the air and bearing an unnervingly close resemblance to whatever it was that the Obscurus was made up of.

Elvira let out a wordless scream, but at the same moment, she noticed something. She'd seen Iliana's work with fire before, admittedly never on a scale of something like this, but she knew how it looked, how it worked. If she didn't want anything to get through that shield of flames, then nothing was getting through. And, more specifically, she'd seen the explosion before. It was something Iliana had done in her more dramatic younger years, a spell that made her Apparations all the more impressive.

Perhaps the biggest tell was the tiny vial of blood hanging around her throat. It had been burning hot since they emerged from the suitcase, Iliana was in danger. But if she had actually died, the charm would have exploded into ash. As it was, the spell was intact and was now beginning to feel steadily cooler. Iliana was somewhere, she was safe, and, unless Elvira missed her guess, she was with Credence. She'd seen the way her sister looked at the boy. For all Iliana had been worried about her relationship with Credence, there was plenty of evidence that the two adored each other.

"Elvira," Newt breathed, staring down at her in horror, and he was shocked to see that, though there were tears trailing down her face, there was a faint smile curling the corners of her mouth. Her hand rested against her chest, and as she met Newt's gaze, she offered him a subtle wink. His eyes widened as he realized... all of this was for show. Credence and Iliana had escaped and were fine. And, more specifically, the longer they could keep the Aurors tied up here, the better chance they had of making an escape.

Graves slowly climbed up onto the platform, standing in the light streaming through from the street above as he stared at the trailing bits of smoke still filling the air. "Fools," he breathed, "Do you realize what you've done?"

"The Obscurial was killed on my orders, Mr. Graves," Picquery said coolly.

"Yes. And history will surely note that, Madam President," Graves replied cynically, striding down the platform towards her slowly. "What was done here tonight was not right!"

"He was responsible for the death of a No-Maj," Picquery spat out. "He risked the exposure of our community. He has broken one of our most sacred laws."

"A law that has us scuttling like rats in the gutter!" Graves said, his voice dripping with disdain as he continued to advance, wand held loosely at his side. "A law that demands that we conceal our true nature! A law that directs those under its dominion to cower in fear lest we risk discovery!"

As he spoke, Elvira felt Tina move from the knot of Aurors to join her huddle with Newt. Comprehension began to come, slowly and painfully, like pulling teeth. The words Graves was spouting, they sounded dangerously close to Grindelwald's rhetoric, and the way he moved, like he had nothing to fear from the president or the Aurors, spoke of a level of power that went beyond mere overconfidence.

"I ask you, Madam President. I ask all of you... Who does this law protect? Us? Or them?" He pointed heavenward, and the answer was clear to everyone there. Picquery knew it too, it was obvious in the way she glanced at the Aurors behind her warily.

Graves turned away dismissively, striding back along the platform. "I refuse to bow down any longer."

Picquery's voice was tight as she ordered, "Aurors, I'd like you to relieve Mr. Graves of his wand escort him back to headquarters."

A wall of gleaming golden light appeared in Graves's path, drawing him up short. He regarded it for a moment and there was something almost patronizing in the way he nodded to himself and turned back to the Aurors.

By the time he'd gotten his wand up, Newt felt Elvira vanish from his side, and suddenly she was standing before Graves, her wand raised, and his spell broke against her shield.

"You cost me my sister," Elvira said, voice hoarse, and the words came easily. "You're going to pay for that."

In a way, he had, because wherever Iliana was planning to take Credence they wouldn't be safe until they left New York far behind, and Elvira couldn't leave. But she trusted her sister, trusted her to take care of herself and Credence and get them to safety, and if it meant they were going to be separated for a while... well, Iliana was an adult, perhaps it was time they got some distance.

The look Graves gave her was pitying. "Get out of my way, child."

Elvira's response was to draw back her off hand and punch the air. The resulting shockwave send a wall of concussive pressure in his direction. Graves threw up a shield defensively, but he was forced back a step, and it was plain to see that he was not expecting her to come at him with anything close to that level of power.

Elvira noticed his surprise and smirked. "Yeah," she said mockingly, and struck, her wand diving and darting and spinning. Newt, Tina, and the MACUSA all watched in awe as spells broke around the pair against their various shields, streams of colored sparks hitting the ground around the feet like tiny, localized fireworks. The smell of ozone became oddly thick in the air and as much as Newt wanted to get involved, he was well aware that he had never been a duelist.

Elvira, apparently, was.

He watched in awe as she spun and dived and darted and if he hadn't known better he would think she was entirely uninjured. She would feel it later, he knew, but for now she danced around Graves' spells and returned fire with equal ferocity, the tip of her wand constantly glowing as spell after spell poured from her lips. Once, Newt noted that while she said one spell, it was another that actually fired, and he realized she was only partially telegraphing her next move, and she was doing it with more skill than he'd ever seen. Graves was holding his own against her, but he was scowling and actually looked angry.

Graves snatched her wand from her hand and Newt cried out breathlessly, thinking for a moment it was over, but Elvira didn't even break stride. In fact, her castings seemed to increase in power as she chanted and dragged her hands through the air. Waves of magic rushed out from her and Graves was forced to take a step back, then another. Her fingers contorted into impossible shapes and Newt watched as lightning arched from her hands and shot forward. When Graves raised a shield, Elvira merely twitched her wrist and the lightning redirected to the metal beam behind him where it connected and showered him in harmless but distracting sparks. She stomped her foot authoritatively and the whole station shook at the strike.

Graves staggered, and that was enough. A rope lashed out around his ankles and Elvira tugged on it viciously. Graves dropped, his wand sliding from his hand to land neatly in Elvira's alongside her own reclaimed wand. She cocked her head and made a fist, the rope coiling up and knotting around Graves' wrists as well, forcing him into a kneel that dragged his shoulders back, his fists almost between his ankles. Elvira twirled her wand, turning it back into a cane, and planted it on the ground. She stalked forward, and Newt saw how labored her motions were as she approached Graves, the way she had lost a couple shades of color and seemed to be leaning more than usual on her cane.

"European wizards," Elvira said slowly, "rely too much on wands." She made a snatching motion with her free hand and the image of Graves dissolved away in streams of smoke. In place of the respected and admired Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, there knelt a man with sweeping spikes of brilliantly white hair and a thin moustache, sculpted cheeks, one dark eye and one hauntingly blue-white eye. He had been splashed across the papers for months, everyone present knew who he was.

Elvira arched an eyebrow. "Gellert Grindelwald, I presume?"

Grindelwald looked up at her, and she for a moment she was very wrong-footed by how... utterly unconcerned he seemed to be. Newt appeared at her side, standing at her shoulder supportively, and she drew some confidence from that, straightening her spine and hardening her features.

"I am a very hard man to impress, child," Grindelwald noted mildly. "Congratulations."

At Picquery's order, there was a flurry of movement as Aurors rushed forward, adding their own spells to contain Grindelwald as Elvira removed hers. They yanked him to his feet, and never once did he look at from Elvira's face until just before they hustled him away to the cells. His strange, bi-colored eyes fell on Newt and he whispered,

"Will we die, just a little?"

In the aftermath there was a great deal of milling about. The Aurors that had been brought down en masse seemed to suddenly realize that they were no longer needed. Many of them began to stare at the damage for something to do, but they also knew there was no use. The whole magical secret had been blown wide open, the No-Maj's were now fully aware, and so their usual efforts to try and contain something like this were all for naught.

Queenie and Jacob, missing during the majority of the fight, appeared down the stairs. Queenie threw herself into Tina's arms frantically, embarrassing her tightly, and Tina hugged her back just as hard as Jacob sidled forward.

"So, eh, I guess you got everything wrapped up, huh?" he asked, laughing awkwardly. He glanced around curiously. "Where's Iliana got to?"

Elvira recalled at that moment that she was supposed to be mourning and forced her face to crumple into something sad. Jacob's expression dropped, his mouth falling open in disbelief, and Elvira took the opportunity to embrace the No-Maj tightly and bury her facve in his shoulder as if overcome by her grief.

"She's alright, but they don't know that," she hissed into his ear, and to his credit, Jacob only froze for a moment before reaching up to wrap her in a hug. He patted her back comfortingly and said sorrowfully,

"Aw Christ, Ellie, I'm so sorry, I don't know what to say. Iliana was a good girl, she didn't deserve that."

Picquery moved through the crowd, staring up at the breaking dawn through the hole torn in the station. "The magical community is exposed," she said bitterly. "We cannot obliviate an entire city."

A thought occurred in the back of Newt's mind, no more than a glimmer of an idea, but as he watched Jacob and Elvira separate and turn to look at the president, it sparked into something fully formed.

"Actually, I think we can," he said quietly, but the mood was so grim that his words echoed in the quiet even though there were dozens of people filling the station. All eyes turned to him, and being the center of attention was enough to make Newt shift uncomfortably. He looked to Elvira hopefully. "Ah, my case?"

She stared at him in confusion, but nevertheless dragged her hand through the air in a slow spiral, fingers pinched together. At the innermost point of the route she spread her fingers wide and, with a faint pop, the case appeared at her feet. Newt scuttled over to it, shifting it back away from the Aurors to give himself some room to work.

"Mr. Scamander," President Picquery said warningly.

Newt glanced back at her from where he was crouched, hand spoised over the latches of his case. "Madam President, the non-magical world is aware of witches and wizards. Whatever I'm about to do could hardly be worse than that, and may in fact be able to help."

It was clear that Picquery had no argument for that, and so she closed her mouth with a sharp click and gave a stilted nod. Newt turned back to his case, opening the latches and lifting the lid. He took a few quick steps back to make room and then called out, "Frank, come here please."

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then there was a rush of gleaming golden feathers that sparkled in the morning sunbeams pouring in from outside. Frank emerged from the suitcase with a triumphant call, wings battering the air and sending wave after wave of air washing over the assembled witches and wizards. There were hushed whispers of awe as they all stared at the thunderbird. For most of them, this was their first sight of one, and he certainly looked out of place in the dingy, broken-open subway station.

Frank landed on the rubble, lifting one wing and preening it absently. Newt took a step forward, breathing in deeply and wishing his plan didn't sound quite so mad even in his own mind.

"I was intending to wait until we got to Arizona, but it seems like now you are our only hope, Frank," he murmured as he approached the thunderbird. Frank had come a far cry from the dull creature he'd seen in the Cairo marketplace, spots plucked bald and his legs rubbed raw from manacles. He was now the picture of health and pride, a fierce predator, and he deserved to go back to the place he'd been so cruelly taken from, but perhaps he'd have to take the last leg of that trick himself.

Frank stepped closer and Newt reached out, stroking the whisper-soft feathers under his chin back. Frank lowered his head, nuzzling against Newt and giving soft, warbling cries. He seemed to understand this was goodbye, and Newt had to blink back tears as he realized it was time to move on. He knew, no matter how attached he grew to one of his creatures, that unless there was a reason they wouldn't be able to survive they all belonged in the wild. None of them, and especially not a beast as magnificent as Frank, deserved a life as a pet. "I'll miss you too."

Frank pulled his head back, stretching his neck upwards, and Newt took a few steps back, reaching into his pocket for the vial containing the glowing blue venom from the Swooping Evil. He held it up, looking from it to Frank. Frank stared at the vial and gave a chirruping noise that Newt took as an affirmative.

"You know what you've got to do."

He drew back his arm and launched the vial into the air. Frank lunged, flaring his wings and snatching the vial delicately in the very tip of his beak. He leaped up and broke through the hole in the ceiling of the station. There were audible screams from outside as the gathered No-Majs saw him, and Elvira rushed forward to Newt's side, watching in awe as Frank flew higher and higher with each mighty stroke of his wings. The dawn-warmed clouds grew grey and bleak as he flew through them, lightning crackling around his body and then spreading as the low thrum of a building clap of thunder began to vibrate through the whole of the city.

Elvira found herself winding her arm around Newt's waist under his coat and his came up to drape over her shoulders. Together they watched as Frank's form was obscured by the rapidly-darkening clouds. Every now and then, there was a flash of lightning, and they could track his movements even if they couldn't see him. They knew when it had happened. There was a flash of blue the same color as the venom that raced outwards through the clouds and, only a moment later, the skies opened up and rain began to pour.

The Aurors began to Disapparate one by one, most of them moving off to repair the damage strewn throughout Manhattan from the night's activities before the No-Majs could see what had been done to their city while they slept. Before their eyes, the pipes and beams began to retreat as the hole in the ceiling sealed itself up, tiles that had been reduced to powder coming back together and sliding back into place among the rest of the mosaic.

Newt took a deep breath as the moment began to slowly end. "They won't remember anything," "That venom has incredibly powerful obliviative properties."

It was Picquery who responded, sounding incredibly pleased and relieved as she said,"We owe you a great debt, Mr. Scamander."

"No, not just me."

Newt slid free of Elvira's hold on him, only at that moment realizing how close they'd ended up. He took a step towards the president, gesturing to the woman behind him.

"Elvira Blödgarmr was the reason I was able manage all of this," he informed her. "She helped me capture my creatures when they ran loose. She helped me track down the Obscurial. She personally took down Gellert Grindelwald, who had been hiding in MACUSA for who knows how long. She..." He trailed off, licking his lips. "She lost her sister." He looked back to Elvira. "And she can't even leave the city." Her mouth dropped open in stunned disbelief as she realized what he was trying to do for her and Newt felt warmth pool in his stomach as she offered him a warm, breathless smile.

He turned back to President Piquery. "I don't see how that's fair. And going by the reaction during your meeting, many politicians in Europe wouldn't either."

Picquery arched an eyebrow, leaning away from him, her expression crossed between disbelief and amusement. "Are you... threatening me, Mr. Scamander?"

Newt shook his head. "No, Madam President, of course not. Merely pointing out what I believe is an imbalance of justice."

Picquery's jaw tightened, and it was clear when she looked at Elvira that she still didn't trust the younger witch, but no one could deny that Elvira had be useful that night, and Newt had just saved her from being the president who oversaw the biggest breach in the International Statute of Secrecy the magical world had ever seen. If that was what he wanted as a reward... Well, in terms of the tragedy that could have occurred here tonight, wiping Elvira Blödgarmr's record clean didn't seem like such a great cost to pay at all.

"Your arms, Blödgarmr," Picquery said quietly, and Elvira twitched, standing frozen in disbelief for a moment.

It was Tina, creeping up behind her and lightly nudging the back of her shoulders, that got her moving. Elvira glanced back at the Auror in childlike disbelief before taking two more steps forward, rolling up her sleeves as she went. The pale flesh of her inner forearms was displayed before President Picquery, who drew her wand. The president hesitated, pointing her wand sternly at Elvira's nose.

"Understand, Blödgarmr, this only releases you up until now. Any laws you break in the future, and you will be right back to where you started," she warned, and Elvira laughed. She couldn't resist tossing Tina a wink as she said lightly, and, to her credit, with only a hint of sarcasm,

"Oh, Madam President, I'm a changed woman, trust me."

Picquery rolled her eyes, clearly not believing a word, but she still trailed her wand down first Elvira's left arm, and then her right. The marks left on her skin burst into being, sizzling red and angry. Picquery murmured something and then jerked her wand, and Elvira cried out in pain as the runes began to peel up from her skin. Newt moved to her side, holding her shoulders protectively. Elvira hissed her breaths in and out through her teeth. It hurt, and it hurt badly, but it was nothing compared to the pain of receiving the curse in the first place.

When the last rune was gone and the red light faded from the tip of Picquery's wand, Elvira stared down at her bare arms in open-mouthed disbelief.

And then she turned sharply on her heel, threw her arms around Newt, and tackled him in a hug that sent him reeling against the side of the subway station, peppering his cheeks, nose, and forehead in thankful kisses. Newt went brilliantly red under the attention, plastering himself to the wall as Elvira expressed her gratitude, and around him, a few of the Aurors smothered laughter as they began to trickle out. Over Elvira's shoulder he saw Tina, Queenie, and Jacob smiling at them proudly, and then Picquery's next words ran down his spine like ice water.

"Is that No-Maj still here?"

They all froze, smiles sliding off. Elvira peeled herself off of Newt as Jacob stepped forwards uncertainly, presenting himself before the president. Picquery gave him a look up and down, almost like she was making calculations, and then she passed her judgment.

"Obliviate him. There can be no exceptions." She even seemed slightly moved by the way Queenie, Tina, Newt, and Elvira all stared at her pleadingly. "I'm sorry, but even one witness. You know the law." She looked meaningfully at Tina. "I'll... let you say good-bye," she said, and, legally, that was perhaps the only thing she could offer them.

There was a ringing silence as they all stared at each other, alone now on the platform, all of them silently willing the others to come up with something, anything, that would allow Jacob to retain his memories.

It was Jacob who finally moved, looked around at them all and gave a quiet, "whelp," before heading for the stairs. Queenie hustled after him, Tina, Newt, and Elvira trailing behind as he mounted the stairs. They could hear the rain that would strip away his memories falling against the small roof that covered the entrance to the subway, and Queenie reached out, catching Jacob's hand before he could step out and tugging gently.

"Hey, hey," Jacob said gently, drawing to a stop and looking back at her fondly. "This is for the best." He looked beyond Queenie to all of them, standing there in a tight knot on the stairs. It was clear he didn't like this any more than they did, but he knew there was nothing more any of them could do.

"Yeah, I was, I was never even supposed to be here. I was never supposed to know any of this," Jacob continued gamely. He couldn't imagine going from not knowing anything about magic to suddenly seeing this whole weird, wonderful world bloom before his eyes. And now it was all going to be washed away. Everything he'd done, from trying to lure an occamy into a teapot with a roach or punching a goblin mobster or climbing a tree to escape a love-drunk erumpent... it was all going to be gone. But it _had_ happened, and even if he wouldn't remember it, maybe that was enough.

"Everybody knows Newt only kept me around because..." Jacob trailed off, looking to the wizard questioningly. "Hey Newt, why did you keep me around?"

"Because I like you," Newt said simply, and that caught him right in the heart. "Because you're my friend and I'll never forget how you helped me, Jacob."

"Oh," Jacob said hoarsely, struggling not to cry in the wake of the words.

"I'll come with you," Queenie offered desperately, scurrying up the last few stairs separating them. "We'll go somewhere, we'll go anywhere." He laughed, because he knew that as nice as that sounded it couldn't happen. He'd feel terrible if Queenie had to leave her home and her sister behind just to be with him. It was such an amazing thought though, to come home to Queenie's bright smile and spend long hours in the kitchen together as he taught her to make his favorite deserts.

"See, I ain't never gonna find anyone like you," Queenie whispered earnestly, reaching out and taking his hands tenderly.

Jacob shook his head, because it made no sense that a gorgeous, magical mind reader like the woman in front of him wanted anything to do with a cannery worker like him. "There's loads like me."

"No. No," she insisted. "There's only one like you."

Jacob tilted his head and smiled at her wistfully. If wishes were horses, his grandma used to say. All of this, seeing the people and the potential life he was leaving behind laid out before him like this, was just making it harder to take those last few steps out into the rain.

"I gotta go," he said simply, and turned.

"Jacob!" Newt stopped him, darting up behind him, but Jacob shook his head.

"It's okay. It's okay," he muttered, and he was trying to convince himself as much as convince them. "It's okay." He shrugged and offered a smile that was as sincere as he could make it. "It's just like waking up, right?" That's right, because that's what this had all been. An amazing, wonderful dream, but he had to go back to the real world at some point.

Jacob stepped backward, moving out into the rain. He looked up, closing his eyes as he felt it pour over his face. His brain went foggy as he tried to hold onto memories of a man who kept a zoo in a suitcase, a magical lady cop, a western outlaw who ran a wizarding bar, and most of all, of blonde fingerwaves and soft hands and a dreamy voice that made him feel warm all over.

But... why was he thinking about those things? A man with a... what? No, no, that was silly, probably just something he'd dreamed last night, because magic wasn't real. Geez, it must have been a rough night if he was standing in the rain daydreaming about... he didn't remember, some kind of nonsense... first thing in the morning. But he could have sworn he felt a soft touch on his gentle, a gentle kiss on his lips, heard someone sniffle.

Jacob opened his eyes. He was standing in front of the subway entrance near City Hall with his arms outstretched. There was no one there. What was he doing, standing around like an idiot? He needed to get his head out of the clouds, he had a shift to get to.

Absently, his hand came up to touch a sore spot on his neck. He must have slept on it funny last night...

* * *

It was almost noon before Elvira made it back to her place, Newt trailing along behind her. They'd spent some time at Tina and Queenie's, consoling the latter on the loss of Jacob, but without creatures to find or Aurors to escape or an Obscurus to talk down, the adrenaline wore off fast and soon they were all nodding off over their cold mugs of tea. With weary goodbyes and tight hugs they had separated, Elvira taking Newt with her back to her place to gather his field journal and get some rest before he had to go.

They both staggered a little as they Apparated into the apartment, and Elvira fell wearily onto the couch. She huffed as Gus rushed her, jumping up onto the couch and crawling into her lap, writhing in pleasure as she laughed weakly and scratched at his bared stomach fondly.

"Elvira," Newt murmured, noticing a piece of card folded on top of his field journal where it sat in the middle of the coffee table. It had her name written on it in curling script.

Elvira snapped her fingers and the card floated over to her. She unfolded it, staring down at the familiar handwriting, a slow smile creeping across her face as she scanned the letter.

"What is it?" Newt asked, sitting down on the cushion next to her. "If... If it's not private, of course."

"It's not, it's addressed to you too," Elvira said, passing him the note. Newt took it, and he was rather proud of the fact that he didn't jump when Elvira sighed and leaned against him, resting her hand on his arm and her head on his shoulder. After everything they'd been through, he wasn't going to begrudge her resting against him, not when it still made him feel oddly like he'd just downed a shot of Felix Felicis, like he could do anything.

 _Newt and Elvira,_

 _Don't worry about us, first of all. I'm sure you realized Ellie, but that fireball was all for show. As soon as the Aurors attacked, I grabbed Credence and Disapparated. I suppose you could say we're running away together. It sounds much nicer than fleeing the authorities. I don't know yet where we'll end up, neither of us really have any preferences. Credence says he doesn't care, as long as I'm with him, which is incredibly sweet. I'll send you along a post card when we're settled._

 _Don't worry about us, please. I'm going to keep teaching Credence all about the magical world, and we'll be able to provide for ourselves. Maybe we'll find some cozy cottage somewhere and settle in for a while, play house. That would be nice. I think this is going to be the best of a bad situation, and really, it's not even that bad. I might be a bit naïve, but it's even sort of exciting._

 _I'll miss you Ellie, and you too Newt. You'd better not break my sister's heart, or I'll hunt you down and you'll be catching my next fireball._

 _Love always,_

 _Iliana_

 _P.S. I told Gus goodbye, but please give him extra scratches for me. I'm going to miss him._

"It sounds like they're going to be alright," Newt said with a faint smile, glad that at least, even if it didn't work out for Jacob, there was at least one reasonably happy ending to be had in all of this. He got no response, and when he glanced to the side, he saw Elvira's eyes closed, her breaths deep and even. She looked exhausted, purple bruises under her eyes, and he'd seen her sneaking a few small sips of her personal pain potion when they got to the Goldstein's. She was liable to be sore when she woke up no matter what, but Newt couldn't bring himself to risk disturbing her by moving her to her bed. Instead, he flicked his wand several times. Her boots vanished and reappeared at the end of the couch. The curtains drew themselves closed, blotting out the bright sunlight, and a blanket floated from where it rested on top of an old steamer chest across the room, spreading itself across the pair of them. Newt felt a bit presumptuous, but he could use some rest as well. He allowed himself to shift, toeing off his own shoes as leaning back more deeply into the couch. He froze as Elvira shifted against him, humming faintly as she burrowed deeper into his chest. Her mouth moved as if she were trying to say something, but nothing came out.

"I can leave if you want," Newt whispered, and waited for her to protest and tell him get out, or at least move to one of the worn armchairs sitting by the fireplace. But her breathing evened out with no further protests and Newt found himself just staring at her, mind spinning back through all the memories of the night. President Picquery had made it clear she wanted him gone soon. There was so much more he wanted to sit down and talk about with Elvira, but he wouldn't have time now.

But still, he got this time, he supposed, and he hadn't imagined when his boat docked that his visit would at any point involve holding Elvira while she slept on her couch. The weight of her was somehow comforting, and he was pleasantly warm even though he was only in his shirtsleeves. The soft puffs of breath against his skin were pleasantly ticklish and he closed his eeys, sighing in contentment. Maybe he was hoping for too much, he mused as his eyes drifted closed, but he really hoped that this was the start of something more than letters with Elvira. Perhaps even a life together, something he had never dared to imagine, not even with Leta.


	21. Chapter 21

He was standing in the shattered remains of the City Hall subway station, staring at Iliana's flaming back while all those wizards pointed their wands at him - Aurors, he remembered that one - and he was bracing for the inevitable, when they would tear him apart. Then there was a bang, a flash of light, and the smell of smoke. One hand clamped around his wrist and another landed on his cheek, drawing his gaze to lock onto brilliant blue. He was being squeezed through a hose that was too small for him, he was going to suffocate, but maybe that was okay, because Iliana was here with him in the end. It wasn't how he'd thought the Aurors would kill him, but the how didn't really matter as long as she was okay.

With a thump, his feet connected with the worn boards of his bedroom and he sagged against Iliana, panting and looking around wildly. Her arms were tight around his waist, half-supporting his limp form as he struggled to understand what had just happened.

"Credence... Credence, you need to stand on your own, I can't hold you," Iliana's voice said in his ear, and Credence forced his legs to cooperate, his knees to lock and support him. She drew back, looking up at him. They were both streaked in soot and she was bleeding from dozens of grazes across her arms, legs, and face. Graves, he'd done that, he'd hit her with some sort of spell and made her slide through the gravel, and Credence felt the thin thread of control he had over himself start to slip as his body wanted to dissolve, give over to the power once more and go find Graves and suck the life from him for _daring_ to hurt her...

"Credence!"

Her hands came up, framing his face, and Iliana drew him down so that his forehead pressed against hers. He could feel her breath against his mouth and he wanted to kiss her again, to just cling to her and fall into something soft and kind, but he didn't know... she was still here, she _had_ come back...

"I need you to stay together for me, okay?" Iliana urged him gently, thumb sliding across his cheekbone in soothing sweeps. "I know it's difficult, but I think I managed to convince the Aurors that they got us both in that attack. If they think we're dead, then we have some time to maneuver."

"Time to..." He didn't know what she meant, he had no idea what she was talking about. Only a moment ago he had resigned himself to his fate and now she was talking like he had a future. More specifically, like _they_ had a future. She was using wonderful words like 'we' and 'us,' like she intended in this suddenly available future that they would be together, at least for a little while.

"New York City isn't safe," Iliana explained, stepping back and breaking contact. "The Aurors, they saw you, if you're spotted roaming around Manhattan they'll be after you again. We need to get some things together and then get out of here."

"But you..." Credence stared at her helplessly. "You saw it, that... that _thing_ that's... that's inside me," he groaned. "You know what I am, I can't... I'm not _safe_ , I don't deserve..."

Iliana reached out, taking his hand and squeezing as she whispered intensely, "That is _not_ you, Credence. I told you down in the subway. You are the sweetest," she leaned up, placing a kiss on his left cheek, and Credence let out a soft whine as his eyes fluttered closed. She smelled like smoke and grease from the tracks, "Kindest man." This time, her lips landed on his right cheek. Her hand came up under his chin, her thumb brushing his lower lip. "And I adore you," she breathed before placing a light kiss there as well. It lasted only a second, not nearly as long as he wanted, but when she pulled back she murmured a request against his tingling lips, "Run away with me, Credence?"

He opened his eyes. She was right there, offering him the life he'd spent months dreaming about. Or, not exactly that life, but close enough, he wasn't one to be greedy or picky, not when good things typically avoided him like the plague. The idea that she was standing front of him, that she'd seen the darkness that lingered inside of him and had still put herself between him and a dozen wands, had saved his life, made him feel warm and wanted and _horribly_ guilty because she shouldn't have had to do that, she shouldn't have bothered, not for a monster like him.

"Unless," Iliana stepped back, her heart plummeting down to her knees as she realized she may have badly miscalculated. Perhaps... perhaps she had crossed some kind of line she couldn't come back from when she pulled away. Maybe she'd destroyed the faith Credence had in her. It wouldn't be impossible, not when his trust had been so badly broken in the past, it had to be a fragile thing by this point. Three days, she'd thought that would be enough to sort herself out and stand before Credence confident in what she wanted but she hadn't thought how it might look to him...

She wrung her hands nervously, averting her eyes toward the grimy window. "I-I mean... I've just publically defied the Aurors - and very well, I may say - but there's... that's not really a forgivable offense, not for something like me. It's safer if I leave New York too and I... I don't know, I was being presumptuous, I suppose, I just thought that... I could go alone, that's fine, I just thought you might want..." She fought the tears starting to build in her eyes. She was usually so clever, how had she been so blind? "I'll just... go then..."

Iliana barely managed a single step towards the window before Credence was on her, dragging her into his chest and clutching her like she was a life raft. She could feel his breath, quick and panicked, against her ear as he held her with more strength than he ever had before. Iliana melted against him as he murmured against her hair, "No. _Please_ don't leave me, not again. I _can't_ lose you again, I can't..."

The smile that spread across her face was irrepressible, she was glad her face was buried in Credence's chest so he couldn't see how foolish she must look. She pinched her mouth into a more reasonable expression and drew back just enough to look up at him, twining her arms around his waist.

"Where do you want to go?" she asked softly. "We could go west, I have friends that way. Or Europe, that might be nice, just find some cozy little magical community and settle in for a while. We could go anywhere, Credence, South America, Asia." Her eyes lit with the possibilities spread before them. "Where do you want to go?"

Credence had no idea. He had heard Ma ranting about some places, calling them godless and savage, but Ma was wrong about a lot. Where did he want to go? He hadn't ever really dared dream of living someplace other than the dingy church on Pike Street, but if he thought about it... The penthouse apartment he dreamed up turned into a cozy little cottage. Their clothes were nice, but not terribly expensive. But when he came through the door Iliana was still waiting to greet him with a smile and a kiss and they still sat together in front of a fire.

"Can we... go to Europe?" Credence asked uncertainly. "Maybe... maybe England, someplace I can speak the language..."

"We don't have to stay in one place," Iliana pointed out. "It's easy to travel between countries in Europe, especially with magic. Can you imagine, we could decide to go to Paris for a week? I could show you where I was born," she said wistfully, recalling the stories Absalom told her about a place she couldn't remember actually seeing. "Yes, I like that idea. We'll go to the docks, and we'll get on the first ship to anywhere in Europe. Do you have a suitcase?" Iliana asked, and Credence gave her a blank look. She flushed. "Ah, yes."

Iliana pulled away from him, peering around his room. The apple crate that served as a desk chair was a decent option and she waved her wand in a little spiral. The crate shuddered and then transformed into a suitcase with a creamy leather exterior and brass fixtures. There was even a tiny C.B. initialed below the handle. Following the urging of her wand, the suitcase flipped open and settled on his bed. His wardrobe jumped open, the handful of garments he had dancing out, folding themselves into neat squares before Credence's eyes and fitting themselves snugly into the suitcase.

"Is there anything else you want to bring?" Iliana asked him curiously, and Credence felt a flush of shame. All he had to his name was a transfigured apple crate full of third-and fourth-hand clothes. Even if they did make it to Europe, how were they to live? He had never worked a proper job, he'd only served Ma, he didn't know how to provide for her. Iliana was used to a certain kind of life and he didn't know if he could give it to her, he was terrified he would let her down.

Shyly, Credence reached out and there was a creaking as a board under his bed shifted. He whispered one of the few spells he'd learned and a small pile of books slid from under his bed to stack themselves in his hands. They were all battered, the pages warped with water damage, and a few of the corners had been nibbled by mice, but they were his, the singular thing he'd ever managed to keep secret from Ma.

"I don't have much," Credence mumbled, staring down at his sad pile of books. "Even my clothes aren't... I mean... I- I know I don't _look_ like the kind of person who can afford t-to... just sail off..."

Iliana smiled, placing her hand on top of his pile of books. They shivered and pulled themselves free, fitting neatly into the last available space in his suitcase. It snapped shut and slid onto the floor, sitting neatly by Credence's side. "It doesn't matter what you have. Magic," she reminded him, twirling her fingers through the air and letting off a rainbow of sparks. "I can turn dish rags into couture, it's just easier if I have something to start with."

They were both looking more than a little bedraggled - though Iliana was definitely in worse shape, Credence's clothes had started off shabbier than hers. To prove her point, Iliana raised her wand and began to trail it over his form, murmuring spells. The sleeves and hems of his pants lengthened so that they finally fit him properly and Credence felt the sagging tops of his socks rise into place and tighten. The pressure from too-small shoes eased as they resized, the leather gleaming like new, the laces fresh. His coat adjusted its fit to match the current style, his shirt returning to the fresh, crisp white it had probably been originally. Patches faded smoothly into newer, nicer fabrics all over. Credence wished he had a mirror so he could see what he looked like dressed as if he was somebody.

A memory came to him from near the beginning. He nodded to his hat, hanging on a hook near the door. The battered, wide-brimmed black thing looked quite plain compared to the upgrade Iliana had given him. "C-Could you... make it like those straw hats? Like the men on Wall Street have?" he asked, and Iliana hesitated.

She bit her lip. If that was what he wanted then certainly, but, "I like your hat," she admitted shyly, flushing. "I think it suits you."

Credence didn't understand that, he'd always thought it made him look like he was much younger than he was, but if Iliana liked it... "I'll keep it, then."

Iliana was quick to shake her head. "No, if you'd prefer something different-"

Credence lifted his hand and said the spell. The hat floated towards him, only dipping towards the ground once. He set it on his head and reached down to pick up his suitcase. Something about it, standing before her with his whole life packed and ready, made a surge of something resembling optimism rush through him.

"I'd prefer it if you liked to look at me," he said.

"Well..." Iliana flushed darker. "I suppose we should go to my place then, I need to pack as well. We'll have to Apparate again," she said apologetically, and Credence knew the word and what it meant, but this had been his first time experiencing it. It wasn't pleasant, that was for sure, but he trusted Iliana implicitly, reaching out and taking her hand. Again came that feeling of being squeezed through a too-small tube, and once his lungs felt like they were about to explode they landed in Iliana's living room.

"Oh!" Iliana cried out as Gus came charging from under the couch, jumping up and placing his front legs on hers. "Oh, Gus, I'm going to miss you," she said, dropping to her knees, heedless of the gashes there, and wrapping the squirming axhandle hound in a tight hug. Gus whined in protest, almost like he understood what she was saying, licking frantically at her cheeks and nose. "No, I have to go, sweetie," she told the dog gently, releasing him. Gun whimpered, giving her a hurt look before jumping onto the couch and climbing up onto the throw pillow, turning his back to her resolutely. Iliana winced as she got to her feet, both from the stinging of her knees and the snub from her pet.

She drew her wand and waved it. A folded bit of card appeared on the coffee table where Newt's field journal was resting. That would do, it would give Elvira enough information that she wouldn't worry, and Iliana would send along something more detailed when they got settled somewhere.

"Come on," she said quietly, taking Credence's hand and pulling him further into her home.

Credence had been here before but he'd never seen anything beyond the front living room and kitchen area. Now she pulled him down the hallway. They passed a door that led into a bathroom with a nice, claw-footed bathtub and another open door that housed an office, the walls lined with books and a cluster of picture frames sitting on one corner of the desk. Beyond that were two more doors, but they were closed. One had a wrought iron bar twisted into a cursive E, the other into a letter I.

He hadn't been sure what to expect from Iliana's room, but somehow he both was and wasn't surprised. The room was done in light colors, faded blues and greens accenting creams. The furniture looked worn but well-made. The wardrobe stood open, revealing several dresses of varying levels of formality. Credence tried to imagine her in the ones he could see, the feathered ruffs and sequined overlays clearly for her appearances on stage. There was a vanity scattered with jewelry and perfume bottles. Her bed drew his eyes. For some reason he'd been expecting something large and covered in pillows, perhaps with hangings around it. The reality was a twin bed with a simple wooden frame, a quilt thrown over it, and a pair of pillows resting at the top. It was nearly austere, but space had to be conserved for one very important reason.

Books.

One wall held a large window that looked out over the city, a bench for sitting a reading below it. The other walls, where there was no furniture, were entirely covered in bookcases of various styles and woods, obviously all either purchased or conjured hastily as she needed more room, and no wonder. There were books stacked two deep on the shelves and more small piles scattered around on random surfaces. There was a roll-top desk covered in a spray of parchment and several open books showing whatever Iliana was currently researching.

Iliana saw him looking around, saw how his eyes lingered on the copious amounts of books, and bit her lip. "I know, I'm a bit ridiculous, but I love reading and learning about magic and I..." She shifted her weight from one foot to the next. "I don't normally have people in here so it's messy..."

Credence just stared at her, mouth hanging open slightly. She had mentioned when she offered to teach him that she was clever when it came to spellwork and he had never questioned that. But he was now realizing that there was more to it that Iliana simply being smart. She was a scholar, she had devoted herself wholly to the study of magic with the same kind of fervor Ma had for her witch hunt. He would see that many of the books had tabs in them, bits of parchment or fabric that marked places she often referenced. He would not have been shocked to hear she had read every volume in this place. He was impressed.

"You have a few more than I do," Credence said softly, offering her a faint smile, and Iliana sagged in relief. More than once a fellow had been put off by her bookishness, she'd even used that reaction to her advantage on occasion before to drive of a suitor. While Credence had never complained when she was patiently explaining magical theories, he hadn't quite been let in on just how obsessive she could be about her studies. He was just looking at her expectantly though, that tiny smile that was the equivalent of a giddy beam for him. It made her heart warm and she felt compelled to avert her eyes before she did something foolish like start kissing him - they really did need to get moving.

But as she did, she caught sight of herself in the stand mirror occupying one corner ad gave a dismayed cry. "Oh, why didn't you tell me I looked wretched?" she winced, flushing as she realized she'd done Credence up like some high society type and she was standing here streaked in grease with blood on her chin.

"You look beautiful."

From anyone else, it would have sounded like a line, but Iliana knew that Credence did not have the self-assuredness to try and lie to make her smile. It was something she wanted to work on, to help him develop confidence in himself, but that would come later. For now she got to enjoy the innocence, the utterly guileless way he had about him that made her blush.

"Well, I suppose I should get started," Iliana murmured, turning and raising her wand and her hand in concert. She flicked both multiple times, chanting spells under her breath, and all around her the room set to work. She turned back to the mirror, satisfied in her spells, and began to set about fixing herself up.

Credence watched in awe as the room around him sprang to life. From underneath her bed slid two suitcases not dissimilar to the one she'd made for him. Her wardrobe exploded outward, clothes and shoes flying across the room and folding themselves as they went, followed by the jewelry and toiletries from the vanity. Credence ducked as a silky robe sailed over his head from where it hung on the back of the door. The quilt, obviously something with sentimental value, peeled itself off her bed and joined her clothes. It was way too much to have possibly fit into the suitcase, and that was only the first.

The books around him came flying off the shelves, stacking into neat piles and lowering into the second suitcase. There were probably a couple hundred of them in the room and yet they all managed to fit themselves into the suitcase. The desk closed itself with a soft thump, the key turning in the lock, and began to shrink itself down before floating over and joining the books in the second suitcase, all of Iliana's notes safely tucked away inside.

Before the mirror, Iliana trailed her wand all over her body. The cuts on her limbs and face cleaned themselves out and began to heal before his eyes. Her shredded stockings repaired themselves, the line down the back straightening. The scuffs on her shoes smoothed out. The stains on her dress vanished, tears here and there coming together smoothly. Her hair pinned itself up in a smooth updo. The smeared mascara around her eyes was wiped away and replaced with a fresh coating.

Both suitcases shut and locked themselves as Iliana turned away from the mirror, looking as put-together as she always did. A coat slipped past Credence and landed in her outstretched hand and she shrugged it on. Credence opened his mouth to ask if she could even lift those suitcases as she approached the bed. Magic, he had to remind himself, as she picked them both up with nary a grunt. She turned to him, smiling gently, and asked, "To the docks?"

Credence was feeling guilty once more. She had said that New York wasn't safe for her anymore because she stood up to the Aurors, but she'd done that on his behalf. He was the reason she was now having to leave her home. She actually had a good one, with an older sister who loved and cared about her and wanted the best for her, a job that she enjoyed doing something she loved, and a home that was warm and welcoming. It was freedom for him to be able to put the church behind him, but for Iliana, she actually had something to leave behind.

"Y-You can... take a moment," he offered, "if you want."

Iliana knew what he was trying to do and she loved him for it. She smiled at him sadly and admitted, "If I start saying goodbye, then I'll start crying, and neither of us want that. I just fixed my face up."

Credence understood. It was a bit awkward with them both holding suitcases and he insisted on taking one of hers, but they managed to link arms and once more Iliana pulled him into that horrible crushing place. He was ready this time, knew what to expect, and it wasn't as bad this time when they landed under an awning off to the side of the docks. It certainly wasn't his favorite way to travel, but considering the convenience of it, the pressure of Apparation seemed a relatively small price to pay.

"We'll need some kind of story," Iliana commented nervously. That was something that had occurred to her while she'd been staring into her mirror and, more specifically, at Credence's reflection behind her. They were both relatively young for intercontinental travel, so they had to present the image that they had money to spare. But more than that, they needed a reason to be together. A young lady didn't travel with a young man unless he was family or her husband, not without raising a few eyebrows. They didn't look a thing alike so he couldn't pass for her brother, and it would have felt weird pretending to be related.

"What do you mean?" Credence asked her. "A... A story about why we're going to Europe?"

"Yes. Tales of running from the magical police won't cut it if we're pressed," she said ruefully, hesitating for a moment before asking, "Would you... mind if we were newlyweds?"

Credence stared at her. He remembered when Modesty first came to the church on Pike Street when she was younger. When Ma let him take her to the park, she would often insist on playing house. She would be the Ma and he would be the Pa, and their house would be the little space under the slide. Credence would pretend to complain about his day at work and Modesty would listen very sympathetically as they ate their pretend dinner.

Back then, Credence had, at times, wondered what it would be like to be a husband, if he would ever manage to find a woman who loved him - the idea had seemed so impossible. It had been nice to play pretend with Modesty even if he was far too old for imagination games. He had thought it was the closest he would ever come to such a thing, and so he had let himself enjoy all the moments he thought he would never have. This was just like that - it was not real, it was only for show, but the very fact that their relationship - whatever it was - involved some kind of romantic element made it all seem so much more... _real_. As if this were just a dress rehearsal for some next step.

"We could perhaps be cousins, if you'd prefer," Iliana added swiftly when she saw him hesitate. "It would be a stretch but I think perhaps we could pull it off..."

"No, I just..." Credence swallowed thickly. He managed to work up a small, uncertain smile. "We don't have rings."

Iliana smiled and waved a hand dismissively. "Details." She squinted at the ground and spotted what she was after, a couple of loose chips of concrete. It was still not quite dawn. A few people were milling about, but they were mostly dockworkers and crew for the ships at port. No one was paying them much attention, and so she summoned the debris into her palm. A whispered spell, a tap with her wand, and the rocks became simple gold bands, one thicker than the other. Iliana made to put the thinner on her left hand.

Credence's hand closed over hers. She looked up at him questioningly. "Can I do it?" he asked shyly, and Iliana felt her jaw loosen just a little. Her heart rate picked up a bit as she passed her ring to Credence. He lifted her hand and gently, almost reverently, slid the band onto her ring finger. It wasn't a real marriage, not even close, and Iliana wasn't quite sure she was ready for a commitment like that - marriage was a scary word. But there was definitely something in the way Credence stared at the ring on her hand like he'd never seen anything more fascinating, and she suddenly understood why he'd wanted to do it.

"Now you," she said shyly, and reached out. Credence surrendered his hand, and her heart broke just a little at the sight of all the old, poorly-healed scars across his fingers and the backs of his hands. So much pain had been etched into his hands and she wished she could take some measure of it away. Iliana slid the ring onto his finger and smiled. There was something oddly gratifying about seeing the glint of the band on his hand and the strange sort of pride it gave her, an almost possessive feeling.

She sucked in a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. There would be time for that later. "Come on," she urged, jerking her head in the direction of the ticket window. She offered Credence a cheeky wink. "You're about to find out I'm very good at being a criminal."

They approached the window, where a bored man in a blue uniform trimmed in gold was waiting.

"Excuse me, sir," Iliana greeted him. "What is the earliest ship leaving for Europe?"

The man arched an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that question. Most people would book trips weeks or months in advance, not simply appear on the day they wanted to leave with bags packed. "And _where_ in Europe would you like to go?" he asked pointedly, clearly already frustrated with her. Credence watched as Iliana offered the man a brilliant smile complete with sparkling eyes. It was not an expression he'd ever seen on her face before, but it certainly did the job as she chirped,

"Oh, anywhere!" She leaned over and wrapped her arms around Credence's, pulling herself tight against his side and staring up at him, starry-eyed. "We didn't think we'd be able to have a honeymoon, not with dear Credence's work, but Daddy was an absolute dream! His wedding gift was time off for my wonderful new husband and he said he'd pay for us to go wherever we wanted! Credence wanted to wait and plan a trip but I said no! After all, Daddy isn't usually so generous and there's no telling when he'll let my poor dear have the time again." She pouted, bottom lip thrust out almost comically. "Besides, what's life without a little spontaneity right?" she demanded of the man behind the window.

Credence stared down at her blankly, not quite sure what to make of this version of Iliana that actually seemed... painfully air-headed. The man behind the window clearly thought so too, because he was shooting Credence a pitying look over Iliana's head.

"There's a White Star liner leaving for London at eight o'clock, but the first class rooms are all booked. That is, I'm assuming you _wanted_ first class?" the man asked, shooting Iliana a knowing look.

"Oh, of course! If we're going on a honeymoon we're going to do it in _style!"_

"In that case, the next earliest would be the Cunard's _Aquitania_ , which will make berth in London, and the French line has a ship that will be docking in Marseilles. That one leaves at noon."

"Hm, what do you think dear?" Iliana asked, looking up at him curiously, and Credence jerked at suddenly being involved in her little act. He hadn't expected it but he supposed he should have. She was an excellent actress. The man behind the window seemed to complete believe that he was the new long-suffering husband of some bubbly socialite with money to toss around. Or, perhaps, he simply didn't care enough to press beyond the surface.

"L-London sounds nice," he stammered, and just like that Iliana was crying,

"London it is then! And the nicest room available, if you would," she added with a wink to the man behind the counter. "I expect we'll be spending quite a bit of time there."

Credence went brilliantly red at the implication, but he supposed it was expected for a couple that were supposed to be on their honeymoon. "O-Oh... Ah..."

The ticket seller gave Iliana an appraising look, and this time when he glanced at Credence he looked almost insultingly impressed as he sized the pair of them up as a couple. He gave her the price for their fare, and at the total, Credence felt like he had just been frozen in place. He was an absolute idiot. They had no money, how was this supposed to work? They couldn't pay for a ticket, they couldn't even catch the subway.

But, impossibly, Iliana was digging into the pocket of her purse and pulling out an impressively thick stack of bills, counting out the appropriate amount and passing it over to the man cheerfully.

"It's under the name Credence and Iliana Barebone. Now, what amenities does the ship have?"

* * *

Somehow, impossibly, they had managed to do it, and Credence was having a very hard time not staring around at everything like he was some wide-eyed country boy that had never seen anything nice in his life. But everything in the first class areas was gorgeous, like something from one of those rich, noble estates in Europe. The walls were paneled in ornately carved woods, the staircases were all intricate wrought iron. There was an elevator on the ship for God's sake! Huge windows overlooked the sea from the writing room and the café. There was a pool, a gymnasium, games on the open deck. There was a smoking lounge that looked almost terrifyingly ornate to Credence's eyes. The dining room was a thing of beauty and featured rich colors and ornate columns and more flatware laid out on the table than he could possible imagine using in one meal.

Then there was their room. He had known when Iliana handed over the money that the place they would be staying out be far nicer than anything he'd ever seen before, but this was... something else. There was a private drawing room with furniture that wouldn't have looked out of place in the Ritz, and a private dining room that had a menu with dishes that he'd never heard of and couldn't pronounce waiting on the table. The walls were all done in ornate wallpaper and carved wood and there were thick rugs covering the floor. They had a large window that looked out over the sea, currently giving them a wonderful view of New York.

But then they got to the bedroom, and Credence's mind came crashing to a halt. It was just as beautiful and luxurious as the rest of the suite, with the same wallpaper and carpets. There was a wardrobe that seemed like it was as big as his whole room used to be. The bed was a massive, king-sized thing on a metal frame. There was a thick, downy comforter thrown across the top and there were more pillows that he knew what do with arranged artfully at the head, but the fact remained that there was just one bed. For the newlyweds they were pretending to be, this would probably be ideal. But they weren't actually newlyweds.

"I'll take the couch," Credence said immediately, and Iliana, who had been busily examining the bathroom, poked her head in.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Credence pointed at the single bed. "The couch," he said weakly. "I'll sleep there."

Iliana looked from the bed, to him, then over her shoulder into the drawing room. The couch was made for looking expensive and sitting on. Credence would be crammed on it and it was barely wide enough for him to lay flat. There wasn't much in the way of padding on it either, and she looked back at him incredulously.

"You most certainly will not," she proclaimed. "Worst case scenario I will turn the couch into a cot, but..." Her cheeks heated, but the bed really was unnecessarily large, and they certainly had enough pillows to make some kind of barrier between them. She would feel bad, too, kicking Credence out of the bed when he had been through so much more in the past few days than she had and definitely deserved a good night's sleep in a luxurious bed. If he insisted, they could switch off nights in the bed. And while she could have split the bed into two, somehow furniture was always a bit tricky to spell. If you split a couch into say, three chairs, or a massive king sized bed into two twins, it tended to get proportionately less comfortable.

"I don't mind to share," Iliana offered. "If it would make _you_ uncomfortable, then I'll spell the couch into something for me, but..." she glanced at the bed in amusement, "there's enough pillows to put up the Great Wall of China between us. And you've already told me you're not going to compromise my virtue," she said fondly, recalling that very first night he'd appeared on her doorstep, the moment this strange, fragile, yet desperately intense thing between them really seemed to begin.

Credence hesitated. Did it make him uncomfortable, the thought of sharing a bed with Iliana? Yes, it did. Only a few weeks ago just the sight of her sitting on his bed had been enough to send his head spinning. But it was an exciting kind of discomfort, of trying something new. He had no idea if he would reach out to her in his sleep, he'd never slept with anyone else who could tell him. Still, the pillows would keep anything untoward from happening and the idea of having her there at his side as he slowly drifted off, listening to the sound of her breathing and knowing she was right there... it sounded incredibly appealing.

"We can share," he said quietly, and Iliana smiled at him, her cheeks going a bit red. She might have hesitated to offer, but it was the most practical and comfortable option for both of them, and she trusted Credence to behave himself in a way she had never trusted other men. He'd seen her in her night things before when he came to her apartment to be healed and he'd seemed too scandalized to even look at her for the most part. She found his innocence charming, especially when compared to the men she saw come into the Cactus Cat who liked to loudly - and probably falsely - brag about how smooth their were and how many ladies they'd charmed into bed. Their levels of inexperience when it came to the opposite sex seemed to match in many ways. Iliana actually found the idea of slowly learning how to be with another person, of doing those tiny, insignificant firsts together - sharing a bathroom, having breakfast together, divvying up space in the wardrobe - to be rather romantic.

She had never dated, had in fact been afraid to. Dating as a half-veela was filled with pitfalls and potential stumbling blocks and, simply put, she'd never met anyone she liked enough to bother dealing with those things or risking the potential heartbreak. She saw little point in dating someone she couldn't see becoming a long-term partner. But somewhere along the line, her original pity and compassion for Credence had turned into protectiveness, then affection, and now something more than that. Not love, at least she didn't think so, but something that might easily grow into love. While Credence's feelings about her were still a bit foggy to her - his entire emotional state as a whole right now was a bit up in the air - she knew what she wanted out of this relationship, and if that lined up with what he wanted... well, then she was perfectly happy to play for keeps.

Iliana moved into the room properly, sitting down on the edge of the bed and patting the comforter next to her invitingly. Credence sat, perching on the edge of the bed with his shoulders so tense he looked like he was waiting for lightning to smite him. His hands were fisted on his thighs and Iliana reached out, placing her hand over the closest fist and slowly smoothing her thumb across his fingers.

"So, in the past few hours we've done several thousand dollars in property damage," Iliana murmured, "escaped from Auror custody, used counterfeit money to purchase a ship ticket under false names - well, I did at least - and I think we might technically count as stowaways. I think we're doing a pretty impressive job of being criminals so far, don't you agree?" she asked lightly.

Credence flinched. He knew, dimly, that she was being charitable by not mentioning the people he had inevitably killed while he was locked in the grip of the monster inside of him, but the way she said it all, so calm and matter-of-fact, threw him for a loop as he realized quite how much they'd gone through just in a handful of hours.

"And now we're sitting in a room that looks like it belongs in a palace," she continued, and smiled at him. "Not bad for a couple of first timers, huh?" She nudged his shoulder teasingly with hers.

Credence stared at her for a moment, but she looked so cheerful and so optimistic despite the horrors of the past few hours, and the room they were sitting in was so impossibly lavish, that it struck him as completely hilarious. He collapsed into helpless giggles and Iliana soon joined him, the pair of them slumping back together on the soft sheets as they howled with laughter.


	22. Chapter 22

Newt came awake with a start as something slapped him across the face and then stepped sharply on his throat.

 _"Shit!"_

He blinked his eyes open, moaning faintly and shifting. He was sore from the previous day's activities and there was something weighing down his chest, what was it...?

"Son of a snidget…"

"Do you always swear when you first wake up?" Newt found himself asking, throwing his hand over his eyes.

"Hm, a lot of the time, yeah," she replied dully, and the corner of Newt's mouth quirked up.

He groaned once more as a small paw came down on his thigh and drew his hand back. Sometime in the night, they had shifted. His legs were tucked up along the couch and Elvira was crammed between his body and the back of the couch, lying half on top of him. One of her legs was thrown over his and an arm was around his waist, her face pressed into his chest. Her braid was a mess, the end of it tickling his hand. Gus was leaping all over them, wagging his tail and whining.

"Gus, off!" Elvira ordered, and the axhandle hound obediently slid off the couch. She waved her hand irritably and a cabinet in the kitchen popped open, a twig drifting out of it and floating towards the living room. Gus jumped up into a chair and leaped off the arm, hitting the floor with a thump as he landed, stick clenched tightly in his teeth. He slunk off underneath the kitchen table to eat his breakfast.

Newt shifted, trying to pull his numb arm out from under Elvira's shoulder. She obligingly braced one arm on the back of the couch and lifted herself. Newt started to withdraw his arm, only to freeze when Elvira let out a pained gasp. She tried to stifle the noise, that was clear by the way she was biting her bottom lip, but her eyes were awash in pain.

"Overdid it yesterday," she wheezed and, slowly, the leg that was thrown over his straightened out. She was stiff as a board as she carefully shifted her weight and Newt realized what the problem was with a sinking in his gut. She was so sore that she could barely move, and the night spent sleeping on the couch hadn't helped her situation any.

"I should have levitated you to bed," Newt said apologetically, words spilling out of him. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep as well, I just didn't think..."

"My own fault," Elvira disagreed. "I need my potion."

Newt recalled what she had said about the potential dangers of the stuff, but he also could read the agony in every line of her face as, bit by bit, she tested her limbs. His wand was sitting on the side table and he arched back for it, fighting the surge of guilt when he jostled Elvira with his movements. A quick flick of his wand summoned the flask containing her pain potion. Elvira reached out and caught it, flipping open the lid and bringing it to her lips. She took three long, deep drinks as Newt watched her carefully and, slowly, her body began to relax as the potion worked its way into her system.

"Are you alright?" Newt asked her warily, and got a weary laugh in reply.

"Not hardly, English, but I've got things to do. What time is it?"

Newt glanced at the clock, squinting first at it, and then at the light trickling through the curtains. "I believe it's nine in the morning."

"Sweet Sayre," Elvira muttered bitterly, slapping a hand to her face. "They never got fed last night, damn it."

"Fed?"

Elvira twisted to look up at him, a faint smile on her face, and the usual mischief in her eyes was muted by pain and tiredness but it was still there. Newt was suddenly very aware of the fact that she was still mostly on top of him and he still had an arm around her shoulders. In theory, she should have been crushing him, and she sort of was, but he found he rather liked the weight of her against his chest. There was something nice about feeling her arm around his waist and knowing that she'd been holding him like a pillow through the night, like he gave her some kind of comfort. He didn't imagine he was terribly comfortable to sleep on, gangly as he was, but she didn't seem to mind.

"Wanna see my version of your suitcase?"

Newt's eyes popped wide at the invitation. He recalled her story of Spike and his family, how she had taken them in, and he hadn't seen any signs of a cactus cat living in the apartment, let alone a whole family of them. She had done something similar to what he had, it seemed, using Undetectable Extension Charms liberally on some kind of container and making whole pocket dimension to care for her creatures. And now that he thought about it, he remembered Gnarlak saying something about a re'em.

"Very much," he breathed, eyes darting across her face, wondering how he had managed to stumble across such an amazing woman.

Getting the pair of them off the couch was an exercise in awkwardness. Elvira couldn't move very fast and Newt was stiff as well. Hands ended up places they shouldn't have been as they tried to disentangle themselves and they traded elbows in unpleasant locations more than once, but they finally managed it, standing red-faced before the couch.

The blanket Newt had thrown over them was resting on a steamer trunk when he found it, and it was that trunk that Elvira approached, leaning heavily on her cane. She reached out, her extended finger glowing purple, and traced a series of runes across the lid. The runes flashed once before vanishing and there was a loud click from within. Newt admired her spellwork as she looked at him knowingly.

"I've got a bit more than a bum lock on mine."

The lid rose and Newt found himself peering down into something that was much lighter than the interior of his own case. Elvira went first, and he took her hand, helping to support her as she threw her leg over the side of the trunk and descended inside. Newt followed eagerly, wondering what other things might be down there aside from cactus cats. Perhaps some creatures he hadn't even heard of, given the variety that could be found in the United States and the lack of ready information on the topic.

The place they descended into was much like his own workroom, but with a distinctly feminine touch. It was a ramshackle structure made of a light-colored wood, but there were white eyelet curtains in the window and lanterns in every corner that lit the place. A multicolored rag rug covered part of the floor and there were a few pictures up on the wall. They were all wizarding pictures and Elvira was in most of them. She stood with soldiers in various uniforms, sitting on a fence next to Iliana. A much younger Elvira stood next to a horse in one, and in another she was pulling faces at the camera, hanging upside down from a tree branch, her hair brushing the top of her father's head as he stood beneath her and laughed.

Newt paused before the pictures, eyes combing over all of them with interest. He smiled as a young Elvira waved at him from her tree branch and watched fondly as her father reached up and tugged at her trailing hair. His eyes slid on and focused on a picture of her that must have been taken right after she was hurt in Europe. She looked like hell, pale and drawn and probably fifteen pounds lighter, sitting in a wheelchair with a blanket across her lap and a bandage around her head. Soldiers surrounded her, all looking battered, weary smiles on their faces as they leaned in almost protectively. They must have been some of the men she'd saved during the war.

The sound of rattling drew his attention and he looked around to see Elvira pouring a measure of some grain mixture into a tin bowl that looked like it was originally meant for a dog. She set it aside and pulled down another identical bowl from a pile on a shelf above her head. Newt immediately moved to her side and asked eagerly,

"How can I help?"

"That cabinet is chilled, do you care to fetch me out about two or three mice?" she asked, and Newt guessed that whatever this was for was probably some kind of reptile. He opened the door and was greeted with a wash of cold air and a faint scent of dead things. The cabinet was lined with metal, likely to make it easier to clean, and it was nearly sparkling as he reached inside and dragged out with his bare hand three small frozen mice and dropped them into the bowl.

"Should these be warmed?" he asked, and at her nod, he drew his wand and cast a warming spell so that the mice were closer to a living temperature.

"Can you do the same and make a bowl with a pigeon in it?" she requested and Newt nodded, fetching a dead pigeon from within the refrigerated cabinet and repeating the warming procedure.

While he was doing that, she had started stacking the different bowls one on top of the other inside of a bucket and he watched in surprise as she bent down, grunting slightly, and pulled from beneath the counter top a wine bottle that looked like it was definitely not filled with wine. She pulled the cork out of it and downed a shot for herself before offering the bottle with a teasing smile and wag of her eyebrows.

"What is it?" Newt asked, as there were no helpful labels on the bottle. She merely pouted and looked up at him from under her lashes.

"Don't you trust me, English?"

He did, and Newt took the bottle from her, bringing it to his lips and taking a small sip. He choked and sputtered as the sweet burn of cactus cat juice hit the back of his throat. She chuckled as he passed the bottle back and admitted wryly, "I suppose I should have expected that."

"Probably," she agreed, and made to lift the bucket. Newt was quick to take it for her, recalling how much pain she had been in when they woke. No matter how much of that potion she took, she was probably still aching and he was completely fine with taking a bit of her morning load off her back. She gave him an appreciative look and moved to the door, pushing it open and stepping out.

Newt followed her down three small wooden steps and his mouth dropped open. If he hadn't known they were inside of a trunk he would have thought they'd just stepped out of a house into the middle of the plains. Gently rolling grass spread in all directions, and for a moment he thought that was all it was. But off to the side he could see smaller areas, one done up to look like the desert and another fixed to resemble a coniferous forest. There was an area that looked like an aviary as well, going by the faint gleam of wards stretching high into the air to keep whatever was in there inside.

"Oh," Newt said faintly.

Elvira looked at him, and she felt a surge of pride at the awed look on his face. There was something extremely gratifying about having the approval not just of Newt as a friend, but as a man who had dedicated his life to the study and protection of creatures that most people would have tossed aside as monsters. For once, she felt like she was the one who held the cards when it came to magizoology and it made her swell with confidence as Newt looked at her, that delightfully thunderstruck expression on his face, and she tried to play her blush off as nothing.

"Come on, there's some people I think you need to meet," she said with a grin, gesturing for him to follow her. He went willingly, and as she approached the nearest enclosure, the aviary, Elvira leaned her head back and let out a long, shrill trill of a whistle that was apparently some sort of signal. All around them he saw creatures starting to emerge from shelters and come out from dips in the landscape.

In the aviary, along a branch hopped a creature unlike any he'd ever seen. It was a bird with a turkey-like head and a long green neck. Its body was covered in silver scales and it had different colored wings, black on the right and pink on the left. When it saw them it let out a caw and jumped in the air, and against probably all known laws of aviation, when it flapped its wings it glided down from the tree backwards, settling on the ground and turning to face them, flaring its wings eagerly.

"He's a goofus bird," Elvira explained at the sight of Newt's entranced expression, reaching into the bucket and plucking out the bowl of grains. "They get called filla-ma-loo birds and flu-flu birds too, but most people call them goofus birds. People like to catch them for pets because they're so odd looking, but because they tend to fly off at the first chance, people clip their wings. That what happened to this poor fellow," she said, crouching down to set the bowl in front of him and reaching out, smoothing a hand down the pink wing as the bird dipped its head and began to snap up mouthfuls. "The people who clipped him abandoned him and he couldn't fly away from predators very well, so I took him in and got him better. You should have seen him, he'd plucked half his feathers out when I first got hold of him," she said sympathetically.

"I've never heard of such a thing," Newt admitted somewhat reluctantly, setting the bucket aside and crouching down, cocking his head as he observed the animal and wishing he had his field journal on him, or even a piece of paper and a pencil so that he could sketch him. The bird's musculature was surely interesting, given that its wings were oriented forward yet it flew backwards, and he wished he could take a closer look but he knew better to bother an animal while it was eating.

"You can pet him, he's actually very well socialized despite everything," Elvira urged, and Newt reached out, letting his hand run over the smooth silver scales, touching with interest where they faded into feathers on the wings.

There was a low, deep growl from the next area in the trunk and something smashed against the side of the goofus bird's enclosure and exploded into splinters. Newt drew back instinctively as the goofus bird flared its wings and cawed in protest at the interruption and another growl came from the forested area.

Elvira rolled her eyes. "Should have known he'd be pissy this morning, he gets that way when his meals are late. Come on, we'd better get moving before he gets really mad and starts tearing his trees apart."

Newt picked up the bucket once more and followed her over to the thicket of pines and fir trees. Elvira hesitated and thrust her cane in front of him, saying warily, "You... might want to hang back?"

"Is it dangerous?" Newt guessed, and Elvira scowled.

"Not so much anymore, mostly he's just an asshole. He doesn't like anyone, but I'm the one that's least likely to get nailed."

There was a loud, irritated roar from inside the enclosure, and this one sounded much closer than the first noises had. Newt squinted around the base of the trees, but Elvira tapped his shoulder and pointed upwards.

Sitting on a branch halfway up a particularly sturdy pine and peering through a gap in the branches, only just visible through the gap in the needles, was another interesting-looking creature. It was as if someone had crossed a gorilla with a bear, starved it, and then stretched out its arms. It was completely black save for its face, which had an ash-grey skull pattern contrasting with the black of the rest of the animal. Most striking, it had only one arm. There was a stump not far below the right shoulder that was a mess of ropy scar tissue and what looked like claw marks.

There was a pile of rotted wood stacked neatly just outside of the enclosure in a little lean to and Elvira stretched out her hand, lifting a piece as long as the animal was off the top. With a flick of her wrist it went sailing through the wards and landed neatly at the base of the tree the animal was resting in. It let out a series of irritated grunts as it made its way down from the tree, swinging on its remaining arm and landing lightly before dropping down to another branch, finally settling on the ground. It picked up the log and bit into it before making a sound of distaste and drawing it back. Elvira's eyes widened.

"Shield!" she barked, and Newt had a Protego up fast as a blink. Good thing too, because a moment later the animal flung the log with enough force to bury it nearly two feet into the dirt outside of its enclosure, roaring and growling in annoyance at the meal it had been given.

"Hey!" Elvira yelled right back, hands on her hips. "That's what there is, you picky bastard, and if you don't like it then someone's not getting their pigeon, got it?"

To Newt's great surprise, the word 'pigeon' seemed to get the animal's attention. It was immediately docile, making chittering noises that sounded almost wheedling. Elvira straightened up and huffed.

"Yeah, yeah, uh huh, I'm sure you didn't mean it." She sent the log back into the enclosure followed by the bowl containing the reheated pigeon and Newt watched as the animal dove onto the meat and devoured it in a few bites before turning to the log, now complacent, and nibbling chunks off with contented huffs.

"Agropelter," Elvira explained at his confused expression. "They stay in the forests up north, they used to be a huge problem for loggers, but now they've mostly been relocated to a couple reserves. They can launch branches like they're firing shells, which as you can imagine, is pretty much always fatal for anything they actually manage to hit. He lost his arm in a territorial dispute is all I've been able to figure. Agropelters mostly eat rotten wood and nesting birds, but they will go after weaker agropelters if they come across them. He'd have been lunch if I hadn't found him."

"I see," Newt said, nodding in understanding as he realized why the animal was so dangerous. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to be a logger, minding his own business, and suddenly a branch was coming at him like a mortar thrown by some strange gorilla-bear. It would be traumatizing for an instant until the branch connected.

Elvira leaned in and murmured conspiratorially, "That's why I mostly just call him bastard. But he's a teddy bear when you dangle a pigeon in front of him, he's mad for them."

"Does your goofus bird have a name?" Newt asked wryly.

"Heinrich," she said. "He was tagged with it when I found him and he responds to it, surprisingly enough. Goofus birds, on the whole..." She winced, "Well, they're about as bright as a box of rocks but Heinrich is actually pretty clever, relatively speaking."

Newt tried not to look too deeply into it, but he was definitely seeing a theme to the animals that Elvira had taken in, and it wasn't entirely hard to guess the reason why. All of the creatures she had taken in would either have been killed by bigger predators or would have been unable to provide for themselves in the wild due to an injury, and there was a pretty straight parallel between their various states and the cane clenched in Elvira's hand as she guided him over to the desert biome. She took in creatures that were just as damaged as she was.

Something in Newt softened at the realization. She had seemingly gone from an adventurer to a nurse in one of the most dangerous parts of the world and then started some sort of rescue for injured or disabled animals. Her compassion seemed to run in surprising directions, to the creatures and people no one would think to look to help, and unfortunately she seemed to have been mostly met with trouble and censure wherever she went for it. He knew she wouldn't want him to pity her, but it didn't stop him from feeling a prick of it. He knew well what it was like to be isolated and called a freak, and he wouldn't wish it on anyone, least of all her.

"I think I know who this is," Newt said with a smile as they approached the desert and Elvira chuckled as she crouched down and clucked her tongue.

Near the front of the space was a rocky outcropping with a small, dark cave carved into it. It looked natural, but it clearly was there to provide a place for the cactus cats to live when they weren't out slashing at the fairly bedraggled cacti that grew thickly in their space. As he watched, a pair of small cactus cats crept out, their fur white and their eyes pink. They were bobcat-like creatures, covered in hair-like thorns, with particularly long spines extending from the legs and an armored, branching tail.

"You'll be surprised to hear that they're not really up for petting most of the time," Elvira said drily as she bent over a shallow divot carved into a rock and brought out the bottle. From the cave stepped a significantly larger cactus cat, this one colored in varying shades of light brown and greyish tan, with glittering dark eyes. A large, albino cactus cat followed him out and two more of their children.

"Spike," Newt said fondly, and Elvira nodded as she poured generous measures of the cactus cat juice into the makeshift water bowl. The two seemingly more social of the kittens immediately bounded forward and began lapping the stuff up eagerly.

"Do you need to... replenish your stores?" Newt asked delicately, gesturing to the gouges in the cacti around the enclosures, and Elvira shook her head.

"No, I usually only do that once a week or so, when I take them out to given them baths."

"Baths?" Newt repeated incredulously, and he had to ask, "And how does one accomplish that?"

He really should have expected it as she looked up at him and replied cheekily, "Very carefully." She stretched out a hand and Newt took it, helping her to straighten up, pulling her up with a little more force than he intended and ending with her leaning into him nearly chest to chest. His mouth opened ever so slightly and if he were braver he might have seized the opportunity and leaned down to kiss her. But Elvira's eyelashes were fluttering, her lips parted, and the look on her face made his heart race and his throat tighten and he froze nervously, unintentionally squeezing her hand in his.

There was a yowl behind them and Elvira instinctively turned, smiling fondly and shaking her head as Spike disciplined one of his children that was nipping at the end of his tail with a sharp swat over the head. Newt was still holding her hand, his owner settled on her hip, as she half-turned to watch. She drew back, his hand sliding off her waist, but their hands stayed linked as she pointed, "The mom is Selene, and the kids are Thorn, Luna, Blade, and Diane."

Newt found himself itching desperately for his field journal to take sketches and make notes as Elvira continued to walk him around the strangely open plains area that seemed to fill the interior of the trunk. After summoning Selene, the gentlest of her cactus cats, close enough for Newt to daringly lay a hand on her back and smoothly stroke down the thorns to feel their texture, she had guided him away from their enclosure and off towards a long, low-walled area with a mesh cover thrown across it. Newt was curious as to why the roof, when he noticed the nearly six-foot long snake resting inside, body partially submerged in water. There was a foggy blue eye cap over the creature's eye, indicating that it was close to shedding. It had a peculiar pattern to the scales, almost like wood grain, and its body seemed segmented-

Was segmented, Newt realized, as Elvira laid a hand on the metallic mesh and it let out a soft _whoom_ sound as it shifted. The snake sprang apart, crumpling into six-inch segments that began to crawl away independently of each other in the direction of a rotted-out log, obviously seeking shelter. One segment wasn't moving, however, and at the glint of metal Newt realized why - it was not, in fact, a section of the snake, but a folded pocketknife.

Elvira sighed and flicked her wrist, and the knife launched itself off into the depths of the log. There was just enough light that, if Newt shifted around the edge of the enclosure, he could watch the snake reassemble itself in a coiled ball, the knife sliding into place somewhere about three-quarters of the way down its length.

"Joint snake," she explained wearily. "They stay together until they get scared enough to break apart, like a lizard throwing a tail, or someone sees them and hacks them up but after that they can have real problems. Sometimes the pieces get stuck or destroyed. For whatever reason, the only thing that can replace a missing piece is the knife that cut them up in the first place. Little kids, boys especially, think it's a gas to hack one up and toss one piece in the fire to be replaced. Problem is that obviously the knife can't run away so they have to crawl back to wherever the danger was in the first place to pick it up, and sometimes whatever scared them is still around."

"An interesting phenomenon," Newt murmured, tilting his head to try and get a better glimpse of the knife blended into the body of the snake. "And it's only the knife used to cut the snake up? Not just any knife?"

Elvira nodded, reaching into the bucket. She lifted a small panel in the mesh of the covering and deposited inside the rats they'd prepared earlier. "The working theory is that it's something about joint snake blood impregnating the blade, but I've never had the heart to do my own studying." She squinted into the log and frowned, muttering, "I don't know if he'll eat this close to shed, but no harm in giving him the option."

"Where did you find him?" Newt asked curiously, crouching down to peer closer into the mesh, watching as the snake's tongue flicked out and scented the air.

"He was a gift, sort of," Elvira recalled, leaning against the edge of the enclosure. "An acquaintance down in Georgia caught some neighborhood boys scattering the pieces of him around to watch them crawl back together. He was tiny then, they were keeping the poor thing in a coffee can when they weren't playing with him. He couldn't get little Sunflower to eat so he passed him along to me."

Newt looked up at her, a faint smile pulling up the corner of his lips, as he repeated, "Sunflower?"

Elvira couldn't fight the pinking of her cheeks as she recalled Harvey Taylors passing her along the small joint snake, then under a foot in length, as well as showing her the coffee can that the boys had been keeping him in. The quarters had been terribly cramped as it was, not even considering that the snake needed room to grow, and as horrible as the situation was, when she looked for something to call the snake, the only thing that had come to mind was that rusted Sunflower coffee can.

"Hush up, English," she grumbled in response, pointedly turning away to hide her flush. Newt couldn't help but feel charmed by the somewhat childish gesture as he straightened up, her now empty bucket sent whizzing back towards her workhouse with a murmured spell and a wave of her cane. She gestured for him to follow her towards a fencerow done up in rough-hewn stripped branches that seemed to encircle the workhouse and all the other enclosures, turning the aread on the other side into a massive, fenced pasture. There was a decent-sized section of it segregated from the rest, and inside was a single occupant, golden hide gleaming in the sunlight overhead - the re'em that Gnarlak had mentioned.

"This is Santa Anna," Elvira said, unable to suppress her smile as Newt took in the re'em's missing leg and threw her a long-suffering look.

"Truly? Santa Anna?"

"I couldn't resist," she admitted, and slowly approached the animal. Newt followed a few paces behind her, knowing well that the re'em might be fine with having Elvira approach, but the animal could be far less comfortable with him. The re'em, with its massive horns and rippling muscle, resembling for all the world an overgrown gilded ox, could do serious damage if provoked, even if it was missing a leg. He trusted her to tell him when he needed to stop as they approached if he needed to give the animal a respectful distance.

"Re'em blood is valuable," Elvira said, though she knew Newt would already be aware of that much. "Because of that, some wizards will stalk them for days before they make their move. Santa Anna started wandering closer and closer to a populated area, so this wizard - couldn't have been older than twenty, bastard," she spat spitefully, "panicked and decided to just hack off a leg and get as much as he could as fast as he could. He really messed up."

"In what way?" Newt asked, before hastily adding, with a nod to the missing leg, "aside from the obvious."

Elvira gave him a wicked look. "It was _our_ property Santa Anna wandered onto. The minute he Apparated inside our wards, pa and I were on him. He barely had time to sever the leg before we were there. I was much younger and not quite as good as I am now with healing spells, so I hexed his ass nine ways from Sunday while Pa went to work on stopping the bleeding."

Newt could not think of a more unfortunate situation for the poacher to have wandered into. He was, at heart, a pacifist, but even he was a bit pleased to hear that the poacher had found himself at the end of Elvira's wand. He'd had a very vivid, very recent lesson on how grim a fate that could be and after such a brutal act committed on such a peaceful animal, he had to admit there was some sense of justice to it.

"I use numbing spells every now and then and draw blood from him once a month of so to supplement my income, and Iliana's done some work on it with regard to potions," Elvira admitted. "But it's never even a drop compared to his size. You've got it pretty good here, don't you buddy?" she murmured, going up on her toes and pressing her face squarely to the swirl of gleaming golden hair in the middle of the re'em's forehead. The re'em blew out a breath, ruffling the front of her shirt, and she chuckled as he lightly shook her off and leaned some of his not-inconsiderable weight into her shoulder. Elvira obligingly braced with her good leg and leaned into him, smiling as she ran a hand up at down the side of his throat.

"You can pet him," she invited, when a glance up showed Newt watching the scene intently.

He couldn't deny that he was eager to be able to lay his hands on a re'em - it was an opportunity he'd dreamed of in the past - but that wasn't why he'd been staring. He'd been oddly entranced by the image of Elvira leaning her face against the animal's, the way her eyelids fluttered shut for a moment and the way every trace of pain seemed to drain from her body between one blink and the next. Watching as both of them, their legs irreparably damaged, leaned on each other for support, was an unexpectedly stirring image and once more he was struck by her as he approached and laid his hand on the re'em's cheek.

"I'll get you a bit of his blood I have under stasis before you leave," Elvira offered casually, like what she was offering wasn't worth several handfuls of galleons on the open market. "He likes you," she added as the re'em huffed again and shifted so that Newt could more fully scratch under his chin, drawing a laugh from both of them. There was a beat and then she continued, "After what happened, we weren't sure that he would ever be alright around people, but he's always been incredibly friendly. Even Iliana was able to be around him within six months, and she was still just a kid."

"That's amazing," Newt murmured, leaning in closer to examine the details of Santa Anna's eye. "You're quite the marvel, aren't you?" he asked the animal absently as he ran a hand along his side, purposefully avoiding the damaged hindquarter.

"He is," Elvira agreed affectionately, her hands coming up to frame the re'em's face gently and she proceeded to coo, "Who's my big buddy? Who's my big, shiny boy?"

Newt bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing. He had yet to see her baby talk any of her animals - hadn't thought her the type - but it seemed she had a particularly special bond with Santa Anna, something he could entirely understand as the re'em lifted its head and began to chew absently at the loose baby hairs around her face. Elvira jerked herself back, a string of drool sliding down her temple, and made a face.

"Thanks, general, that was great," she said sarcastically, and Santa Anna lowed in reply.

In a valiant attempt to keep himself from laughing in her face, Newt turned to the fenced in area that stretched over the horizon into the distance outside of Santa Anna's pen. "Is that his as well, when you turn him out?"

"Hm?" Elvira turned away from the re'em, looking in the direction Newt was pointing, and blinked. "Oh. No. That's something else. I, uh..." She winced a bit and gave Santa Anna a swift, parting peck to one of his horns before she moved towards the gate. Newt followed, noting as he did a large brass bell hanging above the gatepost, a knotted rope dangling down. He made to unlatch the gate, but Elvira ignored it. She let out a not-entirely-muffled grunt as she simply ducked between two of the cross bars and hoisted her leg over, somehow managing to make the ungainly movement look easy in the way only someone who had done it a thousand times could. Newt followed her through, feeling significantly less graceful about it, as she reached back and rang the bell sharply three times.

For a moment all was quiet, and Newt recalled the time when he'd hopped up onto the rock in his suitcase to call the graphorns. Much like then there was a charged feeling in the air, and then he saw a cloud of dust start to rise in the distance. For a long stretch it was impossible to tell what it was, but then he was able to pick out dark shapes within the cloud, becoming more and more distinct as they drew closer.

"Horses," he breathed as he realized that what was coming across the plain towards them was a herd of horses, probably fifty to sixty strong, all coming running at Elvira's signal.

"The war was wrapping up when I was hit," Elvira recalled, and Newt turned to her, her voice becoming a bit louder as the herd came closer. "The men in the cavalry were finding out that only officer's horses were being shipped back. The rest would be sold off to butchers or glue factories, farmers if they were lucky. Some were banding together to buy favorite horses so they wouldn't be killed, but they didn't have the money to save many. So, I asked them, if I could manage to get as many back as I possibly could, would they be willing to keep their mouths shut about my involvement. To their credit, not a one of them outed me," she said with a pleased smile.

Again, Newt stared. He knew the fate of many of the Muggle cavalry horses during the war after it was all over, and it had always turned his stomach. But he couldn't imagine doing what Elvira had done, smuggling probably tens of thousands of dollars worth of trained warhorses home in a steamer trunk as if it was nothing. And even now, years later, she was still taking care of them.

"Some of the boys had land back home, I got their horses back to those who could take care of them," Elvira admitted as the herd drew closer and began to slow, many breaking off into small huddles to munch on grass or nudge at each other playfully. They were surrounded, the smell of horse strong in the air, and Newt watched as a truly massive black warhorse strutted up to Elvira and nudged her hand demandingly, like a dog begging its owner for pats. Elvira obliged, carding her finger's through the horse's forelock.

"You are absolutely, wonderfully, ridiculously mad," Newt breathed, because he could think of nothing else to say in response to everything he'd seen here, and Elvira couldn't fight the blush that rose in response to his tone and the intensity of his stare.

"Aw, English, you say the sweetest things."

3-legged re'em

Joint snake missing pieces

Horses


End file.
